


Now the night breaks

by Lunar_Resonance



Series: Ghost Eater [3]
Category: Soul Eater
Genre: F/M, Kinda, Mild Graphic Violence, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, end of a trilogy, ghost au, themes/discussion of death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-06
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-01 05:38:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 110,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17238419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lunar_Resonance/pseuds/Lunar_Resonance
Summary: Weeks have passed since Maka and Soul ventured into the Rift together and only Maka came back. Devastated and still reeling from Soul’s perplexing desertion, Maka struggles to deal with the emotional fallout while balancing her mother’s sudden reappearance in her life and her work in the DWMA. However, discovery of new, disturbing activity from the Rift complicates her journey to find Soul and hints at a much greater threat coming from the other side. Meanwhile, in Abeyance, Soul wanders aimlessly until he crosses paths with a witch and is coerced into entering a deal to protect Maka from their lingering bond, unaware he is the key in an ancient plan to unlock the Rift and bring witches into the world once again.Sequel to Now the night rises and final chapter in the Ghost Eater trilogy.





	1. In my beginning is my end

**Author's Note:**

> Happy resbang!! This series has been a long time in the making and it's hard to believe that it's ending. I would like to thank all of the people who supported me through writing it, and for you readers for being so wonderful and patient. I began writing this series over three years ago when I was coming out of a difficult time in my life, and finished this last fic while coping with tough experiences so everything comes full circle in a way. I will post my artists' links to their art on my profile-please love on their hard work, they made absolutely AMAZING art for this work, and I am so grateful.
> 
> Happy reading!

“We welcome you.”

Whispers from nowhere fix themselves in Soul’s head as he stares up at the witch sitting in the tree. Her gaze is uncomfortably hypnotic as she drops down in front of Soul; the hazy grey fog enveloping the woods sharpens her eyes’ golden glow into embers and casts her face into a warped mask of shadow and light that morphs her features from veiled to grotesque and back again. There is something out of sync about the way her shadow moves, how it pools around his own - unwinding and twisting like an animal that hasn’t eaten for a long time.

The whispers come from the shadow’s depths, Soul realizes.

He tries to lean away without moving. “I’ve already been here before, I don’t need a welcome.”

“Not the manners I would expect from someone raised with so many tutors.” The mask on the witch’s face falls away and Soul sees her clearly for the first time. There is nothing human about her, in spite of her appearance, and cruelty crawls underneath the pleasant tone of her voice. Even so, monster is not the word that springs to mind, although he almost wishes it was.

“How do you know that?” he asks, shifting his weight as the witch begins to circle him.

“Contrary to popular belief, dead men do tell tales.”

“Is that before or after you start eating their souls?” He’s not sure whether to keep an eye on the witch or her shadow; logic tells him there’s nothing to fear from a shadow, even a sentient one, but that doesn’t stop the alarm from spreading through him when he looks back down to find the shadow has stopped following its owner, and is moving in time with him.

“Don’t be alarmed, familiars are curious creatures.” There is a spurious smile in the witch’s voice as Soul veers away from the shadow and nearly collides into her. “Particularly with those with a soul like yours.”

Soul nearly stumbles before regaining his balance, attempting to glare at the witch and track the shadow’s movements at the same time. “I don’t care to know what any of that means.” He risks looking away from both of them to watch his path as he backs away from the witch. The Rift is about twenty feet away, but he is not sure he’s willing to throw himself into that nightmare again, even if the witch were to try something. “If you’re not going to kill me or spit out what you want, I’m leaving.”

The witch laughs. “To kill a soul like yours would be stupid, although there may be some who are too hungry to remember that.” In the seconds Soul spent glancing at the ground behind him, the witch’s shadow has broken apart into misshapen fragments; they wriggle forward, climbing onto her body and wrapping around her arms and legs as she speaks, transforming to resemble snakes as they settle into her skin.

Ignoring the question she hangs in front of him, Soul instead focuses on not paying attention on the way the shadow snakes’ eyes follow him as he continues to ease backwards. “Then what do you want?”

“Not what I want, but what you _need_ ,” the witch corrects, the glint in her eyes resurging. “Even if you won’t admit it.”

His retreat halts as the perpetually gnawing hunger rises up, though he forces it down before it can show too much on his face. The tips of his fingernails dig lightly into the skin. “And that is?”

The knowing smirk on the witch’s face tells him she noticed the change in his demeanor. “A friend.”

A snort escapes from Soul and he takes another step back. “I don’t think I need a witch’s help to manage by myself.”

“So that is what you call your aimless wandering?” The witch steps out of the forest’s shade, somehow still shrouded in darkness. “It looked more like wallowing to me.”

He narrows his eyes; the bite of his nails in his skin intensifies. “You’ve been following me?”

“As have other creatures.” She twists her head, but continues to watch Soul out of the corner of her eye. “They’re too wary of the Rift to do more now, but it won’t be long till one becomes curious enough to venture out.”

Outwardly, he shrugs, but his stomach gives a lurch. “I don’t care.”

“Are you sure that is true?” The witch gestures to the forest and the Rift with a casual sweep of her hand. “No soul who escaped this place ever comes back to walk to nowhere.”

Her words slide a strange and sharp uneasiness into Soul’s chest. Involuntarily, he glances past the witch and into the dark of the woods. The thought of dying and killing whatever he had become was the axis the rest of his mind had revolved around ever since he crossed over. Yet, instead of finding a way to die, he’d walked along the Rift, hid when he sensed danger, and endured the hunger.

Introspection is dangerous: something breaks quietly as the realization that maybe he isn’t truly looking for death settles in and his hands loosen their grip. He wants to be out of his skin, out of his head, (gone), but when the opportunity to presents itself, he doesn’t take it. In the end, he’s existing like he’s holding his breath, like he’s waiting for something.

The thought brushes too close to _her_ ; sparks an ache so fierce in his chest that his fingers twitch in recoil, as if he could push the memories away. Gritting his teeth, he looks back at the witch. Any alarm at her appearance has dissipated, and with it, any concern for his well-being.

Or so he tells himself.

“The truth is what happens,” he says to the witch. “And I’m here, aren’t I?”

She does not answer Soul, nor does the smile on her lips fade-it grows instead, wider and wider, stretching up to her ears and eyes. He watches with a horrified awe, revulsion rising high and rancid on his tongue, but it is the abrupt quiet that makes Soul look away and realize he is no longer outside of the forest.

“So you are.” The words seem to eat the silence, dropping like stones from the witch’s mouth. There is an endless darkness roiling at the back of her throat that peeks out when she opens her mouth, a mound of distorted shadows writhing in the dim twilight. It’s only when Soul catches the muted screams for mercy and peace mixed in with the witch’s voice that he understands none of the shadows he saw at the witch’s feet belonged to her.

A sound like thunder crashes down and Soul starts as dirt flies up into the air, flinging his hands to his face.

“I will be here when you need me.” The witch is close enough for her words to crawl into his ear.

Soul jerks away, but when he whirls around to face the witch, she is gone and he is standing in the same spot where he met her.

For several moments, all Soul can do is stare into the forest and wish he had the courage to go into it.

Instead, he waits until the absence of his heartbeat begins to disturb him, and he continues to walk alongside the Rift.

* * *

Sleep calls to him.

It takes several minutes and a wave of lightheadedness sweeping over him until he nearly sidesteps into a tree for Soul to realize that he is tired, physically tired. He catches himself on the tree’s trunk on reflex and blinks rapidly in confusion at the odd pressure blooming in his throat before he yawns for the first time since he died.

Leaning against the tree, Soul stills and absorbs the feeling of exhaustion settling in his body; there is an ache in his legs from walking so long that emanates to the rest of his body, and a heaviness behind his eyes tugging down at his eyelids. He feels himself slump down against the tree rather than actively decide to sit down, resting his head on the trunk. The ground is not very comfortable and the tree’s bark is hard and rough, nothing like the feather-stuffed pillows he used to sleep on, but even with that, his eyes flutter shut almost instantly.

The memory of where he is forces his eyes open and he looks uneasily over his shoulder and into the forest. Hours have passed since he met the witch and the dull grey-green leaves of the bordering trees have been replaced by vibrant purple, spiky-shaped ones. He has no idea if that means he’s out of the witch’s territory, or if witches even have territories, but at least it’s a marker of how much distance he’s put between himself and where the witch appeared.

_But that means nothing if the witch had been telling the truth about other creatures following him_ , a voice from the back of Soul’s head whispers. Nor does it change the fact that the witch has certainly been following him. Her twisted smile, breaking out of the confines of her face, materializes in his mind.

Soul flinches, shaking the memory out of his head, but the feeling of helplessness continues to echo in his limbs. Whether the witch actually transported him into the forest or cast an illusion, she possesses powerful magic, and if she had been serious about taking him, she easily could have. He thinks back to the souls he saw in her mouth, feels his stomach twist with disgust as he remembers their screams, and moves his thoughts to the remnants of the souls at the witch’s feet. Did they have any consciousness left, any awareness of what was happening to them?

Raising his hand, he gazes through his palm, faintly translucent even here, and digs the heel of his hand against the hunger cutting into his chest. Its existence is a constant reminder of a world out of reach, one that he didn’t deserve anyway. His fingers curl as he lowers his hand-would being eaten away until he was only a shadow hurt any less than this?

Before the idea can take hold, he shoves it away and huddles further down against the tree, tilting his head up to gaze at the sky. There are no stars or moon, nothing he can trace endless patterns with so he can lose track of his thoughts, only a stormy grey that darkens to pitch in some places.

Though perhaps that doesn’t matter, he thinks as the edges of sleep blur his vision. He should find a safer place to rest, but it feels like the ninety years Soul went without sleeping have hit all at once and, after spending months resisting his mind, he has very little in the way of self-control.

Closing his eyes, he crushes his thoughts and lets sleep draw him into darkness.

* * *

A light prods Soul’s eyes open and he grumbles underneath his breath, rolling over and pulling his arm over his face. The light persists, however, following him to shine in his face again. Irritably, he swats at it and misses. He smacks the air another time before giving up, sighing and hauling himself into a sitting position to find the forest has disappeared - that everything else has also vanished, in fact - and he’s floating in mid-air.

Panic takes over and he flails wildly before realizing nothing is attacking him sinks in and there is a vague, but recognizable unreality radiating from him and into the world. Gazing out into the darkness yawning open in front of him, he stretches out a hand and feels the haziness travel down his arm and ripple out.

A dream, he realizes as he drifts upward. Or a good illusion of one, though he doesn’t feel the same terror that he did when the witch cast her magic. He doesn’t have time to ponder the possibility-a low buzzing sounds above his head and he peers up, spying a sphere of light bobbing up and down.

The light stills, like it was waiting for him to notice it. Dropping to eye level, it flits about his head, no bigger than a thimble, though its glow makes it appear bigger from a distance. It trails away from him and then pauses, hovering expectantly.

Soul starts to move forward, but then he hesitates. Even though he is nearly certain he is dreaming, he is still wary to follow the tiny sphere.  When he was alive, dreams contorted and transformed into nightmares in the blink of an eye; in death, he is sure it would take even less.

Something keeps him from turning away, however. The light gives off a soothing warmth, one he hasn’t felt for a long time. He stares at the light for a moment, fingers curling and uncurling as he thinks.

After another beat, he follows after the light.

The darkness of his dream is weighty and liquidlike, making it hard to move except in an awkward, sluggish movement that mimics digging through mud. Fortunately, the sphere of light is patient, never moving too far ahead and waiting when he falls behind.

It’s impossible to see what direction the light is leading Soul; for all he can tell, it could be looping him around in an endless circle. Eventually, the darkness around him seems to lessen, shifting from completely opaque to a murkiness he can almost see through if he squints hard enough. The outline of something impossibly tall slowly materializes in his vision; it shines dully, although it’s not until he’s close enough to touch it that he can make out the glassy surface.

Pausing in front of the mirror, Soul reaches out to brush his fingertips against the cold glass. It’s gossamer thin and seems to bend under his touch. As he spreads his fingers across the glass, a strange sensation starts to thrum beneath his hand- like a cacophony of drums thudding against his skin, and he pulls away, wiggling his fingers before touching the mirror again. There is no rhythm nor flow he can make out, though now that the surprise has faded, the sound feels less like drums and more like the rush of a thousand heartbeats.

Soul keeps his hand against the glass for another moment before dropping his arm. The light disappeared in the time he spent examining the mirror, but the darkness has lightened into a dim gloaming-translucent enough to see without the light, although his reflection remains a shadow in the glass. Looking up and down into the darkness, he places his palm back against the mirror and listens again to the thrumming beneath his fingers-all in all, this dream is surreal and odd, but he certainly has dreamed odder and worse things.

Soul begins to turn away, giving the mirror a final glance, before freezing in place.

He can see his reflection clearly now. (Except the mirror is not a mirror and the person looking at him is not his reflection.)

Maka has her hand raised to the same spot that Soul does, and if it wasn’t for whatever separates them, they would be touching. Her lips are parted and her eyes are wide, fingers slowly curling as if to wrap around his.

Her voice is tentative, hardly above a whisper. “Soul?”

He can’t move, eyes tracing and retracing her face. His words are stuck somewhere in his throat.

“Soul.” Maka sounds more sure now. “Where are you?” Her expression is mixed, eagerness and something else he can’t read. She presses forward, so close her warmth bleeds over to him. “Why did you go?”

The questions break his trance, and for one moment, Soul allows himself to indulge in the feeling of Maka being so close. He pulls his hand back. “I’m sorry.”

Biting down on his tongue, Soul wrenches himself awake.

* * *

It doesn’t take Soul long to find the witch.

She’s lounging in one of the trees near the forest boundary, hands behind her head, and a smile on her face that says she was waiting for him. She examines her nails when he stops in front of her. “I told you that you may find there are those in the forest who are not so kind to you.”

“I still don’t care about that,” he says.

The witch raises an eyebrow. “Then what do you care about?”

Soul rubs his thumb across his palm and feels the familiar warmth pulse against his skin. “I don’t want to dream,” he says. “If I go with you, can you help me with that?”

A gleam enters her eyes. “You are talking with a witch, aren’t you?” She pushes off from the tree, landing silently, and outstretches her hand. “I will need your word.”

Briefly, Soul hesitates. The shadow snake on the witch’s arm has crawled forward, resting its head on top of her hand, eyes fixed forward on his face.

It feels like a warning.

Soul takes the witch’s hand and feels Maka’s warmth ebb away. “You have my word.”


	2. Mutantur omnia nos et mutamur in illis.

**_Latin; All things change and we change with them._ **

* * *

  **June**

* * *

It’s only when Marie speaks that Maka becomes aware of the dull ache in her lungs and realizes she’s holding her breath again.

“You’re getting the hang of this,” the clairvoyant says as the van pauses at a deserted intersection, drumming her fingers against the steering wheel. “I’m impressed.”

“There’s not much I need to do.” Maka tries to keep her voice low, but Fire still stirs in her lap. A small tendril of smoke drifts out of his mouth as he snores, something that’d alarmed her the first time she’d seen it, though Marie had immediately assured her it was the least of her concerns when dealing with a pyrokinetic.

Kilik leans forward from the back seat, clapping Maka’s shoulder. “No use trying to keep quiet, this is our stop anyways.” His gaze softens as he moves to pat Fire’s arm. “Time to wake up, buddy, we got work to do.”

Beside him, Thunder’s face pops into view and a wicked grin spreads across her face as she jabs Fire in the stomach and ribs, showing no qualms about roughly waking her brother up, unlike Kilik. Instantly, Fire’s eyes fly open and he springs up nearly as fast, letting out a tiny grunt as he scrambles over the front seat to leap on his sister.

“Save that for the mutant wasps waiting in there.” Kilik slides open the van door to reveal a particularly decrepit office building in Pyram, a mid-sized town east of Moricio. The two cease their mock fight, looking at each other and gasping in unison before making a beeline for the door, although Kilik seizes them by the back of their shirts before they can jump out.

“You need to wait for me,” he scolds lightly. “How can I let you go with Miss Marie or Azusa by yourselves when you keep running headfirst into danger like this?”

Thunder huffs sheepishly under her breath and Fire ducks his head. They lean back and wait in their seats as Kilik dons a jacket stamped with the DWMA’s skull logo, although it only takes Kilik stepping out of the van for their excitement to get the better of them again, springing from their seats and dancing beside Kilik as he finishes zipping his jacket.

“It shouldn’t take us more than an hour to clear out the area,” he says to Marie, pushing up his sleeve to check his watch. “Maybe a bit longer if they’ve spread out into the neighboring buildings.”

“Will you need a ride?” Marie asks as Maka hands him the boxing gloves Stein modified to store Fire and Thunder’s powers. Like Marie, Kilik is a medium, but instead of purification, Kilik’s abilities lay in channeling the powers of others. With Fire and Thunder, he had dispatched more Rift creatures and banished more poltergeists than many veteran psychics in the DWMA, despite being only a year older than Maka.

“Nah, there’s a portal nearby,” he says, offering a gloved hand to Thunder. Her hands flash with tiny blue-white sparks as she charges the glove. “Besides, I promised the twins pizza after this.”

Marie smiles at the way Fire and Thunder’s faces light up at the mention of pizza. “If you change your mind, call me. I still have a few things to take care of here.”

“Roger that.” With a two-fingered salute, Kilik turns to the twins. “Ready to roll?”

In response, Fire and Thunder bolt forward onto the concrete path leading to the building. With an amused shake of his head, Kilik gives a wave before following the two.

“They’re so eager.” Maka watches as the Thunder yanks on Fire’s arm to reach the door first. Dusk barely touched down less than an hour ago, and she can still clearly see the impish grin on Thunder’s face as she sticks out her tongue at her brother and disappears into the building. “They don’t seem afraid at all.”

“Kilik does an excellent job at making the twins feel safe,” Marie replies as she shifts the van’s gears. “However, before he found them, Fire and Thunder lived on their own. When you see monsters all your life and have to fend for yourself, you have to decide if you’re going to be afraid of them or not.”

“That’s not a very fair thing to ask of children.” She presses a tiny crescent into her skin with her nail. From outside, the shriek of a poltergeist pierces the dark of the budding night, garbled but not completely lost. Eventually, it will have to be dealt with, but only when Kid or another reaper is in the area.

The thought digs under her skin. Without a weapon, she’s useless as a reaper; since she came back from the Rift, she’s been relegated to supporting reapers and meisters like Kilik, using her perception to detect hordes of Rift creatures and to help Marie find weakened and corrupted areas during her post-reaping purification ritual.

It’s humiliating to no one but herself but it still burns. Biting her lip, Maka shifts her gaze away from the window and nearly misses Marie’s reply. “It’s not,” the clairvoyant agrees as they turn onto a main road and into a less desolate area of Pyram. “But the options you’re given aren’t always fair.”

“Having to work for the DWMA isn’t one of them at all.” Her words come out more argumentative than Maka means them to be and she swallows, eyes darting to Marie and then back to the road. She’s not sure why she’s looking for a fight when Marie isn’t the one she’s angry at.

She’s not even sure _who_ she is angry at.

“When we found Kilik and the twins two years ago, Kilik made it very clear he would be accepting no help from us unless it was left up to the twins to decide _if_ and when they would begin working for the DWMA. Something that I agreed with,” she says. Marie’s voice remains mild and soothing, though her gaze rests briefly on Maka’s face. “Imagine my surprise when they came to me last year and demanded to join Kilik on his missions.”

Maka’s eyebrows rise. “They talked to you?”

“In their way.” The van comes to a stop and Marie pulls the keys from the ignition. “Neither Kilik nor I could change their minds, so he began taking on the less dangerous missions so he could keep an eye on the twins. Seeing as their control has improved and their trust has grown to include others than just Kilik, I think it was the right decision,” she says.

“A good choice, at least.” The flash of anger in Maka has already dimmed and a faint kind of embarrassment settles in. She glances out at the empty storefront in front of the van. “Another haunted attic to cleanse?”

“Not quite.” Cold air bites at her skin as Marie opens the door and exits the van. “We have one more stop, but it’s not here.”

Maka frowns and moves to follow Marie out of the van, trailing her to the store. “You said you had more things to do in Pyram.”

“ _I_ do. You’re done for the night. How-” At the door, Marie pauses, rummaging in her sleeve and crease furrowing across her brow before she brightens suddenly and pulls out a key. “Found it!”

A cloud of dust wafts into Maka’s face when Marie opens the door and she gags, spluttering and wiping her eyes as she follows Marie inside.

“Sorry,” Marie apologizes, closing the door with her foot and flicking a switch. A poorly burning light bulb in the middle of the store flickers on, useless except for showing how empty the store was. “We don’t come to this portal often.”

“Portal?” Rubbing the last of the dust from her face, Maka watches Marie walk behind the store counter and reach under, concentrated look on her face as she apparently searches for something. “Why are we going back to the DWMA?”

“I think it’s better to explain once we’re there.” A click echoes softly and Marie smiles, straightening. “There.”

Something moves at the bottom of Maka’s vision and she looks down, gasping as the checkered floor folds on itself and folds downward, transforming into stairs. Although the portal is directly below the lightbulb, the portal is only illuminated a few steps before plunging into a darkness that appears solid.

Looking back at Marie, Maka toes the border of the portal with her shoe. It’s useless to demand an explanation from Marie when she’s already refused, but another question crops up. “Why is this portal different than the ones in Moricio and the forest?”

“The DWMA had to make the portals in smaller towns more elaborate since they aren’t used as often.” Marie locks the door and flicks off the light as she speaks. “Only people registered with the DWMA can unlock these portals.”

“Seems like it should be that way for all portals,” Maka says, examining the portal’s familiar darkness.

“The DWMA has been around for a long time and modern technology hasn’t. It takes a while to catch up.” Sweeping the room with a final glance, Marie nods and begins moving down the stairs. “Let’s go, the portal will close as soon as we’re through.”

Silence descends as they walk down the portal’s stairs; the steps eventually even out, but it still feels like they are moving downwards instead of across. The soft hush of Marie’s breathing is the only sign that Maka isn’t alone in the dark and she holds onto it in the same way she held onto her flashlight when she was little. Still, the darkness rests heavily on her skin, enfolding itself around her as phantom tendrils brush across her face and the back of her neck. The sound of their breathing morphs into the whispers of the monsters in the Rift, into _his_ voice. Maka’s fingers do a nervous dance against her side as she struggles against the memories frothing beneath the surface of her thoughts.

_Don’t think, don’t think,_ she chants to herself, but she is no longer the eleven year old girl who could bury the loss of her ghosts and her mother’s abandonment in the crevices of her mind. She’s not even the fifteen year old girl who could freeze out the ghost bound to her soul through sheer willpower.

Something brittle, rotten, and immovable had cracked and crumbled away when she decided to trust Soul, when she decided to rebuild herself, and now she feels and _feels_ , bleeding out all of the emotion she had buried until she could pretend it didn’t exist. Who she is now staggers under the weight that one person’s absence can bring, feels Soul’s desertion with raw, exposed nerves, and yet nearly doubles over from the ache to talk to him again.

Maka sucks in a breath, counts to ten, and lets it out. A numbing pain in her fingers makes her realize how how tightly her hands are clenched and she releases her grip slowly, tiny pricks of pain running up and down her palms as blood rushes back into her fingers.

“How are you doing?” Marie’s voice startles Maka, sounding far off.

Clearing her throat, she quickens her step. “I haven’t tripped yet.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean that,” Marie answers. “Though I’m glad you didn’t, I hope you don’t,” she adds quickly. There’s an awkward, weighted pause. “It’s just I know our answer wasn’t what you wanted to hear and I wanted to check-”

“It’s been almost six weeks since I asked.” Maka’s heart thuds in her ears as she cuts Marie off, her mouth going dry. “Why are you bringing it up now?”

“I have a tendency to worry,” Marie says apologetically. “Especially after what you’ve been through.”

“I’ve gone through worse and made it out just fine.” An involuntary sharpness makes her words biting. She stops for a moment, runs her tongue over her teeth, and tries again. You don’t need to worry,” Maka says, staring up into the darkness. The sound of her footsteps are muffled here-it makes her feel like she’s being swallowed up. “I didn’t like your answer, but I accepted it.”

“Okay.” Another beat of silence follows and then Marie speaks again. “But what about what happened in the Rift?” she asks.

An ironlike tightness squeezes around her heart. “What about it?”

Marie takes the hint, although not entirely. “Soul didn’t give you any kind of explanation before he went to Abeyance?”

The darkness hides the way Maka flinches, though it doesn’t erase the white-hot sear in her mind that flares at every mention of Soul’s name. Swallowing to keep her voice steady, she answers, “I already told you that he never said anything.”

It’s neither the complete truth or a whole lie; logic argues she should have told the truth from the beginning, but she knows what she saw in Soul’s eyes right before he disappeared through the Rift and she was not built for abandoning people she still had faith in.

“And there wasn’t anything else that happened while you were in the Rift?”

The sensation of when Soul possessed her in the Rift crawls up Maka’s arms. She rubs her wrists.  “Isn’t what happened enough?”

“I know,” Marie says. Her voice is gentle, which is somehow worse than the interrogation Azusa put her through the day after she came out of the Rift. “And I know you don’t want to talk about it, but if something else did happen, it’s important that you don’t keep it bottled inside.”

A steadily growing pinprick of light signaling the exit to the portal comes into view. Maka swallows her panic-she can’t talk about these memories in the light. “Listen, I’m not pretending to be okay with what happened, but there’s nothing I’m holding onto,” she says. “Soul left, and I don’t know why, and even if I did know why, there wouldn’t be anything I can do to find him.”

They’re nearly at the exit when Marie speaks finally. “All right, but I do need to know one thing.”

“And that is?” Dazzling light blinds Maka as she steps out of the portal and feels the desert heat of the Death Room clamp around her.

“You haven’t felt any lingering connection with Soul?” Marie asks, turning around to face her. “Any sign that your bond still exists?”

Maka’s stomach lurches and her throat closes. She works to free her voice, keeping her head ducked as if she’s still adjusting to the light. “No, I haven’t felt anything at all.”

Studying her, Marie’s face is serious for a moment and then she gives Maka a smile. “Okay, I just wanted to be sure. Moving on is difficult enough, as it is.”

“Right,” she murmurs, falling into step behind Marie as the clairvoyant keeps walking. As they walk, she catches the mirage-like shimmer of Azusa’s demon sniffers peeking out from the field of crosses spread across the Death Room. They follow Maka with their unblinking gaze.

Unpleasant memories surface, twisting Maka’s stomach into knots. She won’t be able to do any searching tonight if they keep her in here as long as they did last time. “Are you going to tell me why you brought me here or do I have to guess?”

“Nearly there.” The stone table that lies in the center of the Death Room comes into view, Stein recognizable by his grey hair and tattered coat and Azusa by her all-black outfit and the glare of her glasses. Another person is with them, though it isn’t someone Maka has seen before.

It’s not until they reach the stone dais and the stranger’s faint translucence becomes apparent that Maka understands.

The sharp light of the Death Room blurs in her vision and she stops walking. “No.”

Azusa rises and speaks as Marie places a hand on Maka’s shoulder, though she’s not sure if it’s to soothe her or keep her from running. “We’re just here to discuss your options, Maka.”

Her cool composure provokes the anger clawing its way from Maka’s chest to her throat. “Options?” she spits, hands curling into fists. “I’m about as interested in listening to you as you were in listening to me.”

“Looking for Soul isn’t feasible, and even if it was, it’s not a risk we can take.” A hint of annoyance creeps into Azusa’s voice. “Soul going into Abeyance is highly suspect, no matter what you bel-”

“It’s not what I believe, it’s what I know.” Maka’s words crack from the effort it takes not to raise her voice. She wrenches her arm out of Marie’s grasp and glares at them all. “Soul would never sell out the DWMA to the witches, and he’s not a demon either. I don’t know why he left, he just-” Abruptly, she breaks off.

“He just what?” Stein asks quietly.

All of the anger and frustration that rose up drains away. “I don’t know,” Maka says, answer barely above a whisper. The tears that were stinging in her eyes are now streaking down her face, though she doesn’t remember when she started crying. She rubs her eyes with the edge of her sleeve and looks back up at the three. “But I’m not giving up on Soul and I’m not going to bond with another ghost to forget about him.”

“I’m sorry.” Her eyes travel to the ghost, who watches her impassively as she hovers behind Azusa. Phantom water steadily drips in a rhythmic cascade from her long dark hair and grey overcoat. Clenching her hands together, Maka looks back at the three. “I quit.”

Twisting around, Maka walks away, though it gradually turns into a run and then a sprint. She doesn’t stop until she reaches her truck, lungs aching as she hunches over the steering wheel, gasping for breath. Attempting to blindly jam the key into the ignition with trembling fingers results in the keys slipping from her hand and landing somewhere underneath the seat.

A sound bubbles on her lips, although she’s not sure if it’s a laugh, a sob, a scream, or perhaps all three. Leaning back, Maka stares up at the stars through her windshield, even though the night sky is mostly hidden by storm clouds, and lets her tears flow freely for once.

She can never quite outrun the ghosts in her head and she can never outrun herself.

* * *

On her way home, Maka stops outside of the old cemetery. Her truck begins to idle at the entrance as she fights with herself, hands clenched around the steering wheel and eyes trained on her feet. The ghosts drifting around are unusually quiet tonight; their silence pounds against her eardrums, matching her heart's thudding in her chest.

Licking her lips, she looks up, and gazes out across the cemetery. Soul's grave is buried in the back, hidden by overgrown hedges-she'd have to trek nearly the entire cemetery to even get a glimpse of it, although there is nothing inside. His body was never found, had probably been stowed away somewhere in Giriko's house until it was destroyed last Halloween.

She starts at the rapping on her window.

A man with greying hair and a name patch embroidered on his jacket taps the glass again with the flashlight in his hand. Maka recognizes him as one of the undertakers of the graveyard as he speaks, voice muffled by the glass. "Cemetery's closed."

Rapidly, Maka nods, putting the truck in gear.

She doesn't look back at the cemetery as she drives away.

Soul isn't there anyways.

* * *

 

“Your mother called,” says Spirit as Maka walks into the living room. He mutes the channel he was watching on the TV and looks up at her. “She says you weren’t answering your phone.”

“Did she?” Maka tosses the bag of library books onto the floor and unfilled scholarship applications she’s been using as her excuse to go out for the past two weeks. Lying on the couch, she digs in her pocket for her phone and looks at the screen and the three missed calls from her mother. “Guess I had it on silent.”

Closing her eyes, she hears the creak of Spirit’s chair as he gets up and moves to stand over her. “Did something happen between you and her?”

“What? No.” She opens her eyes to see his face, upside down. “We’re going to get breakfast together tomorrow.”

“She told me about that when she called.” Some of the apprehension in his expression disappears. “It seems that things are going well.”

“I suppose.” Sitting up, she shrugs. The aftermath from crying is setting in, leaving her head throbbing and her mind in a fog that’s hard to think through. “Maybe, it’s hard to tell.”

Spirit sits down in the area she vacated and brushes a stray lock of hair out of her face. “What makes it hard to tell?”

She shrugs again. “I don’t know.” Biting her lip, after a pause, she says, “Myself, I guess. It’s not like _she_ hasn’t been trying.”

“It’s a hard situation to handle.” Spirit shifts in his seat to better look at her. “There’s no one way you should make yourself feel about it.”

“Sometimes I really want to talk to her,” Maka says quietly, picking up her phone. “And other times, I never want to see her again.” She studies the missed phone calls again. “But most of the time, I feel somewhere in the middle.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” says Spirit. It’s the same thing she’s told herself, but hearing it from her father is different. “She knows she’s the one who hurt you and that she has to be the one to put in the effort to make things right.”

“I still feel guilty.” The admittal surprises her, cuts to a place she had kept guarded for a long time.

“That is because you’re you,” Spirit replies. “You try to take responsibility for everything.”

His answer pulls a smile out of her, the first one she hasn’t had to feign since Soul left. It fades as she leans against Spirit’s shoulder and stares at the TV.  “So what do I do then?”

“Keep pushing but take it at your own pace.” Spirit’s arm comes around her and she relaxes slightly; it’s not a shield against monsters like it was when she was small, but the comfort is the same. “Are you comfortable with breakfast tomorrow?”

She nods.

“Then breakfast is good,” he says. “See how you feel afterwards.”

The knot of pain, guilt, and anger surrounding her mother loosens slightly. “Okay.”

For several moments, they are quiet, Maka staring absentmindedly at the TV before a new thought occurs to her. She glances up at Spirit. “Did you ever try to find Mom?”

“I knew where she was in the beginning and a while after that.” Her eyes widen with Spirit’s answer. His eyes are distant with memory and then he blinks. “But she wasn’t in a place where she could be convinced to come back.”

Maka frowns. “What did you feel when she first left?”

A faint wince crosses his face. “It wasn’t pretty. There was a lot of anger and hurt and a lot of bad days because of it.” He hesitates. “It may have been because I still loved her very much.”

Fiddling with her phone, Maka feels a pointed kind of nervousness hook into her gut with her next question. “Do you think she left because she stopped loving or caring about you?”

He shakes his head. “The way a person feels about you doesn’t change like that from one day to another. Your mother reached the breaking point for herself and leaving was her way to cope, even if it wasn’t the best choice.”

The words hit with a quiet and unexpected violence, leaving her breath hitched in her chest. She forces away the dull sting of fresh tears pulsing in the corner of her eyes. “Is it dumb to love someone who left you?”

Spirit doesn’t answer right away. “The thing about feeling like that is that you start to feel that way about everyone you love,” he says finally. “You never know who is going to leave and who is going to stay, so it becomes hard to trust anyone at all. It becomes a very lonely way to live.”

“Which I guess is my way of saying no,” he adds on, after a moment.

The laugh that tumbles from her lips edges towards a sob. Her head aches for sleep, to be away from her mind, but there’s one more thing she has to know. “So if you had known she was going to leave,” she says, “Would you still go through it again?”

“Yes.” Spirit’s immediate answer startles Maka and she looks up at him. “You wouldn’t be here, otherwise.”

Maka rests her head on his shoulder. Her throat closes, but the storm in her mind subsides a little. “Thanks, Papa.”

* * *

When Maka wakes up, she’s not dozing on the couch next to Spirit anymore, but on her bed. She blinks up at the sudden darkness-the last thing she remembers is the glare from the TV and the vague feeling of being lifted up. Outside, the sky is still dark, while inside, the house is filled with the fragile silence of sleep.

Stiffness makes her movements awkward and rigid as she rises and heads to her desk, switching on the lamp that sits in its corner. The desk drawer creaks as she eases it open just wide enough to pull out the map she copied from the library over a month ago.

Unrolling it, Maka spreads the map flat across the desk and moves back some of the sticky notes that had slipped from the places she had stuck them on the map. She takes the permanent marker clipped to the corner of the map and uncaps it, pondering the map for the millionth time. After the events of last week, she’s had to alter her plans in her search for Soul. Sighing, she puts down the marker-tonight would have been the perfect opportunity to sneak into Stein’s lab, but after the Death Room, the only thing that had been on her mind was running.

Her fingers brush over the X that marked where she was hit by a truck two years ago, the place where she met Soul. He’d saved her in Abeyance without knowing who she was, then later turned up to fight the demon with her even after months of being shut out.

_When I agreed to stay, I meant it for everything._

The memory hurts less after her talk with Spirit; it still stings, but it also fills her with a determination she hasn’t felt in a long time. Maka stares at the map until her own words don’t make sense to her and a strange lightheadedness spreads through her head. Rolling up the map again, she places it back in the drawer, switches off the lamp, and goes back to bed.

Just as sleep begins to muddle her thoughts, the idea that tonight might be the night she sees Soul again occurs to Maka. A slight frown spreads across her face as she rolls on her side-she’s not even sure if her dream was actually real or whether it was her subconscious fulfilling her wish to see him again.

She lets sleep drop back down over her. In the end, it doesn’t matter-she’s going to find him.


	3. Draugagangur

**Noun; the walking of ghosts. A haunting.**

* * *

Sleep rips away from Maka like a scab pulled off too soon and she wakes up with a jolt, heart in her throat. The pounding echoes in her ears as she takes short and shallow breaths, her heart rate gradually slowing. Staring up at the ceiling, she traces the dream still lingering in the back of her mind.

There isn’t much that she remembers of it and what she does is unremarkable-a vast world of unending darkness. Still, the feeling that she’s dreamed of this place before - that it was the same place that she saw Soul - is unshakable.

Inhaling deeply, she gives a shake of her head. Soul hadn’t been in her dream, and all she had done was float in the darkness. Maka exhales, but at the same time, it hadn’t felt like she was alone. There’d been the feeling of souls all around her, invisible but the rhythm of their song alive in her fingertips.

A sigh escapes from her lips; there is little sense in trying to unravel dreams, even if they repeat themselves. The room is still dark so she rolls on her side, trying to find sleep again, but any tiredness has vanished, leaving a prickly awareness crawling under her skin. Clenching her teeth, Maka screws closed her eyes for a moment, then she sits up and reaches for her phone.

It’s a little past four, the screen informs her, long enough to overthink the meeting with her mother several times over, but too early to get ready. She flops back on her pillow, blowing out a frustrated breath. The breakfast with her mother today will be the first time they’ll be alone together since the day she went into the Rift; Spirit had been there every time her mother visited her since then and the prospect of talking to her without anyone else there to break the silence when the conversation dies awakens the nerves lying dormant in her stomach.

Pulling her pillow over her head, Maka waits for the barrage of thoughts to slow and then she tries to reason through her anxiety. If the conversation dries up, then at least there will be food to turn to, and if the mood stales, she can excuse herself after breakfast. She reminds herself of her father’s words from last night-it was better to take the chance than do nothing. Even if it hurt, she could survive it.

Her breath hitches in her throat a little as she rubs her face. She’ll have to work on holding onto that thought.

With one last rub of her eyes, Maka pushes the pillow off of her and swings her legs over the side of her bed. It might be too early to get ready, but if she doesn’t want her nerves to resurface, then she needs to be up and moving.

There’s a chill in the air as Maka enters the forest, and she zips up the jacket she threw over her pajamas as walks down one of the trails looping shallowly into the woods before returning back to the house. She watches the sky through the gaps in the branches overhead as it slowly lightens, and listens to how the forest comes alive with the low chirps of birds rustling in their nests and nocturnal animals shuffling back to their homes to sleep.

Walking in the forest fosters a complicated peace in Maka. It was the place she had played in during her childhood and where she found refuge when her mother left while the demon and her accident had turned the forest into a place of dread, but months of reaping had dispelled her fear.

(She doesn’t allow herself to think of more recent events.)

By the time she reaches the furthest point on the trail, the clear haze of dawn has dissolved completely. There is still a jumpiness in her bones as the dirt crunches underneath Maka’s feet as she heads home, but at least she can breathe without feeling like there is a vice locked around her lungs. She’s close to the edge of the forest when her vision turns black and the overwhelming feeling of something watching swells over.

The world snaps back in place before Maka can do more than freeze in place, though the weight of being watched remains. Her palms go clammy as she spins around in a circle and scans the forest, the acidic taste of panic rising in her mouth.

Her perception abilities are far greater than they were two years ago, she reminds herself as she scrutinizes the forest again and again, sensing no supernatural creature hiding in the trees. In her chest, her heart pounds loud enough to drown out the sounds of the forest-nothing as powerful as a demon can hide from her, and yet a scream bordering on a sob aches in her throat.

Eventually, she comes to a standstill, chest heaving as she struggles to take calming breaths and swallow back her fear. Wrapping her arms around herself, Maka breaks into a fast walk, looking over her shoulder every few seconds. Her pace does not slow until she is out of the forest and back in the house.

Terror washes over as soon as Maka closes the front door, sending spasms running down her body. The door handle bites dully into her hand as she leans against the door, forces herself to be still, and chases away the fear in her veins-this was a battle she thought she won a long time ago. Maka closes her eyes for exactly seven seconds and then she pushes herself forward, unzipping her jacket and tossing it on the couch as she heads back upstairs. It was nothing, she tells herself, and she wouldn’t let fear convince her otherwise.

By the time Spirit comes down for breakfast two hours later, she’s dressed and brewing coffee in the kitchen, the dishes from last night and today already on the drying rack. His eyebrows lift in surprise as he eyes the plate of eggs and bacon sitting on his placemat. “How long have you been awake?”

“Sometime past four.” Maka takes a sip of the coffee she poured herself and hands him a mug before going to sit at the table. “I’m leaving in a bit.”

“Early breakfast, but your mother was always an early riser too,” says Spirit, still eyeing her with vague concern. “Going to Sid’s diner?”

She shakes her head. “We’re going to the other one by the theater. I don’t think she’s seen Sid or Nygus yet.”

“I don’t blame her.” He takes a bite of bacon. “Black Star isn’t too good at being subtle either.”

“Yeah.” She finishes off the last of her coffee-the calm she talked herself into is evaporating the longer she thinks about her mother. “I just don’t want it to be a circus when I don’t even know what I’m feeling.”

“A wise idea.” Picking up his fork, he asks, “Are you feeling better from last night?”

“I think so.” Setting her cup down, Maka stifles a yawn. “How long are you going to be at the station today?”

“No overtime today.” Spirit answers her unvoiced question. “Whoever was killing those people has either moved on, or kicked the bucket, hopefully,” he says. “Still, not having a clue who was behind those murders doesn’t leave a good taste in our mouths, or the police in Moricio, so the investigation will remain open for a while.”

Nodding, she looks away to hide her relief. The idea of her father facing down the being with wings of black blood winds knots of anxiety in her chest, even though they haven’t been seen or shown any sign of their presence since they attacked her in the Rift.

“Maybe they’ve just stopped killing people,” she suggests with a shrug. “Either way, it’s a good thing. There’s other things you can focus on.”

“Perhaps.” The look on Spirit’s face tells Maka that he isn’t convinced, his job is what he takes pride in the most, but what matters to her is he is safe and remains that way. Losing the one constant in her life would probably take the pieces of herself that she’s stitched together and grind them into dust.

The thought is enough for her stomach to threaten to upend its contents. She gets up as Spirit finishes eating, and keeps busy by putting the dishes away and going into the hallway closet to find her shoes. Spirit is draining the last of his coffee when she wanders back into the kitchen for her bag, and looks up as she swings it onto her shoulder. “Do you want a ride to the diner?”

“Thanks, but I’m going to meet Black Star afterwards,” she says. “We’re meeting Tsubaki out in Moricio and I’m driving.”

Spirit brightens. “Is she done with finals already?”

“Her last final was on Thursday,” Maka answers. “But she’s helping out in her research lab so she’s going to be staying at the university for a few more weeks.”

She stops when she sees a shift in his expression. “What’s wrong?”

“Just thinking about when you go to college next year,” he says, the smile on his face turning slightly forced. “I’m not going to get to see you everyday.”

Voice sticking in her throat, Maka wraps her arms around Spirit. “I’m still going to call you everyday and visit on the weekends.”

“Well, that does comfort me.” Spirit pats her on the back, like he used to when she couldn’t sleep. “Though you’re good enough to get into one of those big out-of-state schools.”

“Doesn’t every parent say that?” Maka straightens as she pulls away.

“Yes, but I know it,” Spirit answers. He glances at his watch. “We can argue about that later; it’s time for you to go.”

“Sounds like a plan,” she replies, adjusting her hold on her bag to dig out her keys from its depths. At first, Maka turns to go, but then she pauses and turns back around to give Spirit another hug. “I love you, Papa.”

Both of Spirit’s arms go around her this time. “I love you too.”

* * *

The parking lot to the restaurant is empty when Maka arrives, pulling into a corner. A ball of anxious dread drops and coils in her gut until she looks at the clock and realizes she arrived twenty minutes early.

She whittles away the time glancing at the parking lot entrance as it slowly fills up, and checking her reflection in the rearview mirror, sweeping her hair behind her shoulder only to bring it forward again.

However, when her mother’s silver car turns into the lot, pulls into a parking spot, and her mother steps out and walks into the restaurant, Maka finds herself frozen. Minutes pass and still she sits in the truck, one hand on the door handle and the other pinching the key in the ignition. Licking her lips, she hesitates, gaze moving to the restaurant and then to the road.

_It becomes a very lonely way to live._

Leaning her head back against the seat, Maka yanks the key from the ignition, and after another moment, she exits the truck.

Her mother spots her as soon as Maka enters the restaurant and waves. The walk across the diner simultaneously expands into an eternity and contracts into an instant, too long to hold her mother’s gaze and too short to look away. It doesn’t get any better when Maka reaches the booth, far too compact to be comfortable, and pauses awkwardly before shimmying her way on the bench without her knees knocking into Kami’s.

“How are you doing?” her mother asks as she pushes a menu towards her. “I called you yesterday, but you didn’t pick up.”

“I was busy.” Briefly, she looks at a point just to the side of her mother’s head as she speaks and then she flips open the menu. She doesn’t mean for her words to come out in a mumble, or to make apparent the undercutting anger she can’t quite let go of, but it’s what her mother pulls out of her.

“College applications?” Kami mirrors her and tilts her head as if she is studying the menu, but Maka feels her gaze’s weight on her face. “Spir-” She stops, correcting herself. “Your father told me about it.”

She turns another page of the menu. “Something like that.”

“Where you applying to?” There’s a quiet rustle as Kami shifts in her seat. Her knees brush against Maka, who starts and presses back against the back of the booth. “I’m sure you have many options.”

“I don’t know where I’m going to apply.” Maka glances up, unable to pretend to stare at the menu any longer, and shrugs. “Something close enough so I don’t become a ghost.”

It’s an off-hand comment, thoughtless and empty, but the realization of how her mother will perceive it hits her instantly. Her voice sticks in her throat, but only a flash of pain flickers in Kami’s eyes before she smiles. “That sounds like a good plan.”

The waitress arrives then, and a grateful kind of relief fills Maka. Out of all the things she expected to feel during her breakfast with Kami, regret for hurting her was not one of them, and it leaves her wordless.

In an act of seemingly divine mercy, refills for Kami’s coffee and her orange juice comes soon after the waitress takes their order, and then the food comes less than five minutes later, leaving room enough for the barest of small talk.

Maka cuts into her pancakes with an air of vicious determination, slicing them evenly into perfect triangles. A voice born from the anxiety coiling in her head berates her with a truth she can’t deny or ignore: she’s sinking this breakfast, moving backwards instead of forward, ruining any chance of a renewed relationship with her mother.

Drizzling syrup over her pancakes, Maka stabs a piece with her fork, stuffs it in her mouth, and summons the courage to look at her mother and try again. Lifting her head, she opens her mouth to speak, and inhales at the wrong moment, a chunk of pancake lodging itself into her throat.

Coughing furiously, she drops the fork and reaches for her glass, taking a gulp of orange juice, though it fails to do anything but make her choke worse. She catches a glimpse of Kami looking at her in alarm and she raises a hand even as her lungs start to burn, tears welling up in her eyes as she tries to regain control of her breathing.

She feels a hand forcing her head down suddenly, slapping her back hard so it dislodges the pancake enough that she can breathe. Her coughing slows gradually, the pressure of the hand disappearing from her back, and she wipes the tears from her eyes, sitting up.

“Are you all right?” Kami kneels beside Maka, peering anxiously into her eyes.

Letting out a final cough, Maka gives a bob of her head, hiccuping once. Sniffing, she sighs, not quite thinking as she says in a croaky voice, “I thought I was going to die.”

“From a pancake?” Kami raises an eyebrow. “That would be an odd way to die.”

Hiccuping again, Maka says, “Death by breakfast food doesn’t seem so bad.”

For a beat, neither she nor Kami say anything, and then they crack up at the same time, Kami bracing herself on Maka’s arm as they wheeze with laughter. They laugh until other diners give them strange looks, and even after that, giggles still escape as Kami returns to her seat.

“Should we get back to breakfast?” she suggests.

“Yes.” Maka swallows the last of her laughter, though her smile remains. “But I think I’ll stick with the eggs.”

* * *

“Tell me again,” demands Black Star.

“You want me to tell you how I nearly choked on a pancake again?” Maka says. She glances at her side view mirror as she switches lanes, the rounded dome of Moricio’s indoor plaza coming into view. “I thought that seemed straightforward.”

“Not that,” he answers impatiently, tapping his hand against his armrest. His hair is highlighter yellow today, in celebration of summer’s arrival, which deepens to a gold orange in the middle of his head, giving Black Star the appearance of wearing a halo. “You’re going on a vacation with your mom?”

“It’s more like an overnight trip,” she corrects, glancing at him from the corner of her eye, since looking at Black Star when the sun is shining on his hair is like staring into the center of a volcano. “We’ll be going to Silver Canyon, staying the night, and returning the day after. It’s barely a road trip, let alone a vacation.”

“I thought you were angry at her,” he exclaims with a stunned kind of confusion. “You told me you didn’t even want to see her sometimes.”

“I was,” Maka says. “I _am_ ,” she adds, after a pause before throwing a hand up in the air. “All I know is that I want to move on from whatever I’m feeling.”

“And this trip is part of that,” Black Star says. “Is that why you said yes?”

“Mostly,” she answers vaguely to avoid outright lying. She can’t tell anyone about the underlying reason why she agreed when Kami suggested the trip at the end of breakfast-she’s not even sure if the nebulous plan floating at the edge of her mind isn’t just a swift and fatal jump from the pot to the fire.

Black Star sits up as they turn into the giant parking lot surrounding the plaza. “When are you going to go?”

“The end of August, right before school starts.” Maka navigates through the narrow lanes of the crowded lot, slamming on her brakes as she nearly passes an empty spot. “I hate driving in parking lots.”

“Which is why I don’t drive in cities.”

“Other than the fact that Sid won’t let you drive past the limits of Orcus Hollow?”

“That won’t be true for long,” he declares, opening the truck door as Maka parks and pulls the key from the ignition. “How do you think your dad is going to take the news?”

“He’s been encouraging me to talk my mom, so...good, I think.” She shoulders her bag before opening the door. “But a trip is a lot more than talking.”

“Maybe he’ll ask to come along with you.” Black Star waits by the end of the truck as she closes and locks the door. “He wants you to have your family back, doesn’t he?”

Swallowing hard, Maka checks the truck to make sure it’s locked, tugging too hard on the handle. “Something that was broken isn’t unbroken once it’s put back together.”

“It’s still something,” Black Star points out as they walk towards the plaza, his head perking up and gaze darting back and forth along the perimeter for Tsubaki, even though she had already warned them yesterday over the phone that she might be late. “It’s still your family.”

“Maybe,” she says softly. The heat from the sun sinks into her skin, but she wraps her arms across her chest. Even if the impossible happened and her parents became the way before Kami left, it wouldn’t completely fill the chasm in her chest. “We’ll see.”

“And you have Tsubaki and me if things get rocky,” Black Star adds on. “In case you weren’t aware.”

The weight in Maka’s chest lessens temporarily, and she smiles before lightly punching Black Star in the arm. “I know that.”

Inside of the plaza, the air is cool, and the harsh light from the sun is dulled by the stained glass windows arcing across the ceiling. Gentle hums from the souls of the people moving around the plaza lobby, both living and dead, brush against Maka’s perception. Meanwhile the frantic beat from the young children playing on the jungle gym of the inside playground bombards her senses, making her withdraw from fanning out her perception any further. It’s unnecessary now she is no longer a reaper and there is no ghost bound to her to attract poltergeists, but she can’t seem to keep herself from reaching out into the world whenever her mind drifts, a reflex born from a spark of illogical hope which refuses to extinguish itself.

Closing her eyes briefly, Maka sucks in a quiet breath. The hushed murmur of the giant waterfall fountain spanning the four floors of the plaza transports her to an earlier time, when her hand fit in her mother’s and coming here with her felt like entering another world, sunlight filtering through the ceiling and glittering on the water like diamonds.

“Look!” Black Star’s voice brings her back to the present. He’s pointing to one of the metal and wood benches running along the base of the fountain, where Tsubaki is sitting with her back to them, dark hair standing out against the ivory walls of the plaza.

Cupping his hands together, he yells, “Tsubaki!”

She jumps, as does Maka and the others nearby, several curious people from the upper levels poking their heads over the railing as Black Star’s voice reverberates all the way up to the ceiling and loudly echoes back down.

“A little overkill, don’t you think?” says Maka, rolling her eyes, but Black Star has stopped paying attention, striding away and towards Tsubaki. She’s right on his heels however, just as eager to see Tsubaki.

But Tsubaki doesn’t seem nearly as excited to see them, making a slicing motion with her hands as she approaches. “Don’t be so loud,” she says to Black Star when she reaches them, words almost a hiss. The expression on her face borders between wariness and fear, hitting Maka with an intense familiarity, although she can’t place it precisely. “You don’t know who can hear you.”

Black Star halts, mouth halfway open, like Tsubaki just slapped him. “But we’re in a mall,” he says, voice much smaller than Maka has ever heard him speak.

A beat passes as Tsubaki continues to stare at them with the same half-terrified expression, and then she blinks rapidly and shakes her head, as if she had woken up from a deep sleep. “I’m sorry,” she says, remorse threading into her voice. “I was stuck in my thoughts; I guess I got startled and overreacted.”

“You’ve been away from Black Star too long if you’ve forgotten how loud he can be,” Maka says with a weak laugh to fill the awkward pause that follows, stepping up to give Tsubaki a hug while Black Star continues to eye her with a bemused expression.

“I must have been.” The vestiges of Tsubaki’s strained smile disappear as she returns the hug and steps back.

Finally unfreezing, Black Star folds his arms across his chest. “That didn’t really seem like an overreaction,” he says skeptically, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap.” Tsubaki has a rare grace even in apologizing; she holds open her arms. “Forgive me?”

Huffing a sigh, Black Star moves forward, the hurt in his eyes melting away. “I’m not mad.”

“Not anymore, at least.” The soft laugh Tsubaki gives is real as she rests her head on his shoulder and gives him a big squeeze. However, Maka catches how the strange look on her face resurfaces when Black Star turns away.

She doesn’t comment on it, watching Tsubaki discreetly as they walk to the glass elevator. The shadows exhaustion had worn underneath her eyes are gone, replaced with a healthy pallor, and the clarity and focus in her eyes that depression clouded have returned. That focus is spread thin, though, bouncing all over the place as her eyes sweeping left and right, head swiveling slightly to look over her shoulder every so often.

It’s when the elevator doors open with a tiny chime and Tsubaki jumps almost imperceptibly that Maka realizes why the odd expression on her face is so familiar-it’s the same mix of emotions she felt when the demon stalked her in the forest.

It’s the face of someone being hunted.

There is no room to talk in the elevator, too crowded to make anything other than small talk. When they get off on the third floor, Black Star immediately launches into a million questions about Tsubaki’s last quarter, peppering in stories from the past month. An odd carefulness lines his words-it’s clear he hasn’t forgotten how she reacted earlier, but there is something else in his expression, too, when he looks at Tsubaki.

When they reach the food court, Tsubaki stops and inhales deeply. “I had forgotten what non-dining hall food smelled like.”

“I thought you said they had a range of food,” says Maka, pausing in front of her.

“Yes, but eat the same cycle of meals for a year and you’ll get tired of it too.”

“We can eat now if you want,” Black Star says as he glances over at Maka, who shrugs neutrally.

Tsubaki surges forward. “Excellent, I haven’t had anything other than salads and sandwiches for the longest time.”

“What do you think about what happened earlier?’ Black Star mutters to Maka, who is about to answer when a cold, knifelike feeling needles into her perception. Recognition washes over her, goosebumps raising on her arms and the taste of bile rancid on her tongue. The air in the food court seems to drain away as she swivels around, breath stuck in her throat, searching for the source of the feeling.

 _It’s not possible_ , she tells herself over and over, but the cold continues to seep into her perception, mixing in with the fear clamping around her heart in an iron grip. She looks left and right but rising panic keeps her from registering anything but the dread lacing around her body.

A sudden pressure on her arm causes her to jump and whirl back around, hand balled into a fist, until she catches sight of Black Star’s yellow hair.

“What’s wrong?” His eyes are wide, brow furrowed in concern. He gives her shoulder a slight squeeze. “What the hell happened?”

“I-” She trails off, dropping her arm. The iciness pervading her body is gone and the food court is back to normal. Looking back at Black Star, she says the first thing that comes to mind. “I thought I heard someone calling my name.”

Black Star’s expression is dubious. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Forcing a laugh, she presses her hands against her sides to keep them from trembling. “That would be impossible.” she says. “Weren’t you the one that said they were like fairy tales?”

Without waiting for him to reply, she moves into the food court, feeling his gaze trail after her. “I’m going to the same place as Tsubaki.”

“Tacos are better than pizza,” he calls as she walks away.

Maka runs her thumbs over her nails as she heads towards the pizza place, trying and failing to slow her racing heart. Her vision is still hazy, barely enough to keep from running into people, perception unfurling and stretching as far as it can. Denial is numbing and smothering, repeating _impossible_ in her mind over and over.

By the time she reaches the counter, her mind has cleared a little, but her appetite has been eaten up by the adrenaline thrumming in her veins. She considers buying at least a drink, eyes the overflowing line, and loops around the line to where Tsubaki is filling her cup at the soda fountain, touching her shoulder just as Tsubaki is reaching for a lid. With a sharp intake, Tsubaki jerks away, sending soda everywhere, including on her tray and pizza.

“Sorry!” The spill pulls Maka out of her head and she reacts first, yanking several napkins from the nearby dispenser and trying to keep the spill from spreading across the counter. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“No, it’s my fault.” Swiftly, Tsubaki reaches over to where Maka is mopping up the spill, who feels the quake in Tsubaki’s fingers as she takes the napkins away from her. “I was the one who wasn’t paying attention.”

Glancing at the soaked pizza, a twinge of guilt pricks at Maka. “Let me buy you lunch then.”

“No.” Tsubaki shakes her head rapidly. “No, it’s fine, really.”

Peering more closely at her, Maka frowns. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, just wound up from spending so much time in the lab, I guess.” Tsubaki bunches up the napkins in her hand and tosses them into the trash can. Giving Maka a tight smile, she rubs her palms on her pants and then clasps her hands together. “So, pizza?”

She has had too much experience in weaving the appearance of being okay to not notice the loose threads in other people. For a moment, Maka hesitates and then she finds her voice. “Yeah, let’s go.”

Like before, however, she says nothing. The anxiousness surrounding Tsubaki is different than last time, something external rather than internal. She’s not sure if the presence she sensed has anything to do with how Tsubaki is acting or if it’s something else entirely, but asking her if she has seen any ghosts lately is out of the question.

Maka’s fingers worry at a stray string at the bottom of her shirt as they wait for their pizza, and then pinch the ends of tray tightly when they exit the line, running through the ways she can draw out the truth from Tsubaki. She has regained her usual tranquility from what Maka can see, though there is still a slight nervousness in her eyes as they sit at an empty table in the middle of the food court.

After a few minutes of silence, Tsubaki speaks. “You haven’t told me how the school year ended, or much about how you’ve been.”

Maka barely hides her wince. The last month of school was a mix of holding herself together while being lost in her head one moment, and being too aware of everything the next. “I haven’t exactly been given the chance to say much.”

Giving a small laugh, Tsubaki says, “Black Star does try to stuff three months’ of conversation in ten minutes.”

“More like five.” Plucking a pepperoni from her pizza, Maka pops it into her mouth and shrugs in an effort to appear more casual than she feels. “Nothing much has happened, other than me taking the SAT in the middle of the AP testing period and almost dying,” she says without mentioning that neither fact has anything to do with the other.

“Painful,” Tsubaki replies, a sympathetic smile on her lips. “You must be glad for the break.”

“In a way,” she answers with another shrug before taking sip of her soda. If she had heeded the DWMA’s order to not look for Soul, then the long, empty hours of summer would have broken her sanity already, but being out of school means more time to search and one less place where she doesn’t have to pretend there isn’t a hole made of pain and grief gnawing away the inside of her chest.

The thought of mourning shifts Maka’s thoughts and she glances at Tsubaki. “Do you still dream about your brother?”

Distress flickers across Tsubaki’s face briefly, an echo of the strange expression from when Black Star yelled her name. Toying with the half-eaten crust of her pizza, she doesn’t quite meet Maka’s eyes when she answers, “They’re not the same dreams, but I think I wish they were.”

Frowning, she asks, “What are the dreams about now?”

“They got my order wrong twice.” Black Star plunks his tray down with a clatter as he appears from nowhere and pulls out the chair next to Tsubaki. He sits down and then he looks from Maka to Tsubaki, who both jumped at his arrival. “Both of you are acting weird today.”

Maka raises an eyebrow. “This is coming from someone who is trying to outdo the sun with their hair.”

He acknowledges her point with a small salute of the taco in his hand. “I heard you say something about dreams before I sat down.” He eyes Tsubaki. “Are the dreams bothering you again?”

“No,” Tsubaki says at the same time Maka replies, “Yes.”

“It’s _nothing_ ,” she says as she gives a rare glare to Maka.

Black Star’s face, open and expressive, shutters closed. His discovery of Tsubaki’s depression and sleep struggle had been an accident, a slip Tsubaki made during a video call a month ago. Awkwardness has lined their friendship since then, and it hasn’t quite recovered from the discovery, although he has chosen to act like the moment never existed. It doesn’t keep his stung feelings from breaking through from time to time, however.

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want,” he interjects over Maka. “It’s okay.”

Guilt flashes in Tsubaki’s eyes, her hand on the table flexing and then relaxing, like she had begun to reach out and then thought better of it. “No, it’s not that, I do want to talk about it.”

Some of the wariness leaches away from Black Star’s expression and they both wait for Tsubaki as she clasps her hands together and opens her mouth.

“There’s some-” Tsubaki breaks off. Her words are barely audible over the steady buzz of voices in the food court as she begins again. “I think someone might be following me.”

Maka blinks incredulously. “You’re being stalked?”

“Have you told the police?” demands Black Star.

“I said _might_ and no, I haven’t,” Tsubaki answers hastily.

“Well, what makes you think otherwise?” asks Black Star, frown forming on his lips as he stares at her.

“Because it doesn’t make sense.” She speaks likes she’s tried to convince herself with the same words a million times, but can’t quite believe it. “What I’m seeing wouldn’t be believable to anyone.”

Ignoring the sliver of dread that slides into her stomach at Tsubaki’s reply, Maka says, “Try us.”

For a moment, she wavers, pressing her lips together nervously, but then Black Star touches her hand and she relaxes and takes a breath. “The first time it happened was a month ago. I was sleeping when I was woken up by a noise,” she says, tapping the side of her drink with her free hand. “I thought it was my roommate at first, but it didn’t sound like she was moving on her side of the room, which is when I realized that she had already left for class.”

“It was this weird noise, like someone was shuffling around my bed,” Tsubaki continues. “Every so often, there was this cracking sound, but it wasn’t normal, it was like someone was breaking their bones over and over.”

Memories of poltergeists and demons turns Maka’s stomach, apprehension spreading to her chest.  “What did you do?”

“I got up, but no one was there.” Tsubaki’s tapping increases before she abruptly pulls her hand away and runs it through her hair. A quiet kind of anxious fear has broken across her face, spilling out in the subtle quake in her words. “I ended up writing it off because I had stayed up late to study.”

When she goes quiet, Maka speaks. “But?”

“Then it started happening regularly.” She lets her hand fall, voice nearly a whisper. “I’d hear the noise even when I wasn’t sleeping or in my room, and when I would wake up and go to class or the lab, it’d feel like someone was watching me the entire time.”

Black Star exchanges a glance with Maka before asking, “Did you ever see anyone when you heard the noises?”

Tsubaki is quiet for so long that it doesn’t seem like she is going to answer at all.

“Shadows,” she says finally, pulling her hand away from Black Star and tangling her fingers together. “I saw shadows.”

His brow furrows. “What do you mean shadows?”

“They’re like puppets on strings, bending at odd angles,” she answers, gaze fixed on the table, as if she’ll see them if she looks up. “I see them out of the corner of my eye, they mix in with the ordinary shadows, but they follow me.”

Maka, who is reaching for her drink to calm her pounding heart, feels the cup fumble in her grasp. The description is too close to the demon that nearly made her crash in the woods the day she closed the Rift, but no hint of its aura lingers on Tsubaki, nor does she have any clue why a demon would stalk her for so long without trying to hurt her.

“But it’s not enough though,” Tsubaki exclaims suddenly, like she’s arguing with herself. “I saw a scythe in your room when we video called once,” she says to Maka, looking up with an almost frenzied look in her eyes. “And that was well before I started hearing or seeing anything, so maybe I’m just losing my mind.”

“You’re not losing your mind.” Maka’s reply is automatic and a little too forceful. “If you say that’s what you saw, then I believe you.” Hastily, she adds, “Whatever this is, we’ll deal with it.”

A grateful expression washes over Tsubaki’s face, and she reaches across the table to touch Maka’s hand. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” Glancing over at Black Star, Maka is surprised to find that he’s looking at her and not Tsubaki. He stares at her like he’s piecing together a puzzle that he has been working on for a long time, but can’t quite put the last pieces in place.

When he meets her eyes, he finally moves his gaze back to Tsubaki. “Yeah, we’re with you.”

Tears brim in the corners of Tsubaki’s eyes, and for the first time today, her smile is genuine. “Thank you both so much.”

Maka smiles back at her in spite of the knot twisting in her gut, and for the rest of the time they’re at the mall and even on the drive home, she is careful not to make eye contact with Black Star for too long.

* * *

Soul stares at the overgrown grove of cocoons ahead of him and then back to Medusa. Memories hurl themselves in a sickening dance across his vision, but he refuses to show any weakness to the witch. “This doesn’t belong to you.”

“I’m surprised you consider your fellow souls property,” the witch answers breezily as she strides past him and into the forest.

Gritting his teeth, he watches Medusa disappear into the fog drifting between the cocoons without following her. “I mean the territory.”

“Oh, that.” Her voice floats out from the fog, echoing too loudly for Soul to tell where she is. “The witch who presided over this area recently vacated the position and left me as successor.”

“Is that your way of saying you killed her?” he mutters as he finally moves into the grove. The fog is too thick to see more than a few feet ahead, and despite the soft ground, Medusa left no footprints to follow, but he doesn’t doubt the witch will let herself be found when she wants to.

“Does that bother you?” Her words sounds close in his ear, then faraway again. “You should be thanking me, you know.”

His foot sinks in the sticky silk of a cocoon, a result from misjudging the distance between it and another cocoon, and he yanks on his leg as nausea sweeps up from his stomach to his throat.  “I fail to see even one reason why I should do that.”

“It was her soul gatherer that murdered you.” Medusa’s voice is simultaneously soft and razor-sharp. “And she was the one who turned you into a puppet and sealed you in that cocoon.”

With a final heave, Soul finally manages to wrench his foot free from the cocoon. He stumbles, feels himself collide into something solid, and spins around to find Medusa’s smiling face inches from his.

His eyes narrow. “You’re all the same to me.”

“Well, it is true we are soul-eating beings,” Medusa says with a tilt of her head, “but did you know it takes being human to become a monster?”

A sour taste fills Soul’s mouth as he straightens. “What are you talking about?”

“I think you know exactly why I’m talking about.” The smile on Medusa’s face grows wider. “It’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”

Instead of answering, Soul stalks away into the mist.

Anger is enough to keep his memories at bay as he tramps away until he can no longer sense Medusa’s presence. The spacing between the cocoons becomes irregular and erratic the further out he walks, cocoons sitting in disorganized clumps instead of neat rows like the spider that had been weaving and placing them lost control of itself. Some of the cocoons are completely silent as Soul passes by, while others pulse with the hum of the soul inside, enticing him to come closer.

Burying the urge before it can spread, he ignores the voice in his head warning him that it’s not a smart idea to get lost in the place where giant spiders attacked him, and continues to wend his way through the grove. Being awake for so long has made him chronically irritable, and Medusa will find him anyways. He ducks underneath a cord of silk spanning between two cocoons-weeks of traveling with the witch hasn’t dulled the unease squirming under his skin whenever he looks at her directly for too long, and the comments she makes leave him with the nagging feeling she can read his mind.

A familiar pain in his stomach rips Soul away from his thoughts and roots him in place, the only warning he gets before the pain forces him to double over and retch.

He vomits until his stomach is empty and aching, sprawled out on the dirt, body shaking uncontrollably in one giant spasm. An eternity passes before Soul can pull himself into a sitting position, and another goes by as he tries to push himself onto his feet. When it feels like he might throw up again, he gives up and lays back on the ground, fishing out the small glass vial from his pocket.

Even here, the golden liquid catches the light; Soul tilts the glass and watches the potion slide from one side to another. Exhaustion stalks him like a predator when the potion’s effects wear off, finding him more and more quickly; there isn’t enough potion to keep him awake for another day, which means he’ll have to seek out Medusa soon now that he’s emptied his guts. His stomach flops unpleasantly at the thought. The daily vomiting had seemed like a small price to pay when Medusa warned him the potion couldn’t stay long in his body, though he wondered how much of that was the truth and how much was a lie to keep him from disappearing from her side for too long.

His fingers tighten around the vial, and he pushes himself up and onto his feet before his body can change his mind. He waits for a few moments, relaxing when nausea doesn’t overtake him, and stows the potion back in his pocket.

The victory is short-lived. Soul’s foot gives way when he takes a step and he feels the world tip forward as he collapses back on the ground, a loud crunch filling the air when the glass vial breaks in his pocket and the shards dig into his leg.

Temporarily, the pain drives away the fatigue snaking around his body, but his eyes still slip closed. Soul forces them open, trying to fight away the shadows bleeding at the edges of his vision, but the dark is smothering and his energy is gone.

He pushes his hand feebly against the ground in another effort to rise before sleep takes him.


	4. Phantasmagoria

**Noun; a sequence of real or imaginary images, like those seen in a dream.**

* * *

The sun is dipping just below the horizon when Maka returns home, turning the sky a bloody scarlet stained with greying clouds. Her door creaks angrily as she exits the truck and pulls her bag over her shoulder. It takes opening and closing the door twice in order to get it to close properly-after the near-accident weeks ago, the ancient truck has never been the same. Neither of the doors close right the first time anymore, and there’s a large dent half-hidden by the tailpipe from how hard Soul had to brace the truck to keep it from flipping over.

Pausing in front of the door, Maka’s eyes trace the dent’s outline as memories flit back and forth across her vision. They sit half-submerged in the back of her mind, surfacing whenever she sees anything that reminds her of that day. Maka usually pushes her thoughts in another direction without burying them completely, because that would mean burying Soul, but after what Tsubaki revealed at the mall, she lets the memories rise.

She gnaws on her lip for a moment-she can’t be sure that it’s the same demon from that day, or if it’s even a demon. What baffles her most is how Tsubaki can see it at all-she doesn’t have the soul of a reaper, nor an aura like Marie or Azusa. When they were children, she had never been able to see the poltergeists that would linger in the shadows, or hear their death rattles when they followed her and Maka from dark corner to corner. Gazing absently at the sky, Maka plays with her keys-it was one thing for Tsubaki to be able to see her scythe, but a much different thing to see poltergeists and demons, and only one particular supernatural being at that.

A sudden rush of cold wind from the north bites into her skin, sending shivers up and down her spine. Rubbing her arms, she turns away from the truck with a sigh and heads for the porch. More mysteries are the last thing she needs, but nothing from the secret part of her life has touched her friends yet, and she refuses to let it happen now.

Warmth and the smell of pasta greet Maka as she opens the front door and lets her bag drop on the floor next to the coat stand. “I’m home.”

“No overtime at the library today?” Spirit peeks out from the kitchen. He has on the apron that says “Kiss the Chef,” which means that he’s trying out a new recipe. “Or did you finish the scholarships you were working on?”

Guilt trickles down her back, tiny needles underneath her skin. “Not quite.” She walks into the kitchen and leans against the counter, hooking a lock of hair behind her ear. Staying out late nearly every night like she has for the past couple weeks is only possible due to Spirit’s trust in her, and her skin crawls every time she lies to him. “I’m giving myself a break before I go at it again.”

“Smart.” He nods as he returns to stirring the large pot simmering on the stove, which is filled with a mixture of vegetables, before placing the lid on the pot and turning his attention to the pasta cooking in a pan next to it. “Don’t want to burn yourself out at the very beginning of summer.”

“Right.” The feeling of guilt intensifies as she draws invisible shapes with her finger on the counter. “So what are we eating tonight?”

“Vegetarian linguine,” Spirit answers, carefully slipping on a pair of oven mitts and lifting the pan from the stove and heads to the sink, glancing at the space next to it. “Though it would help if I didn’t forget the strainer on the other side of the kitchen.”

“That would be helpful.” Maka pushes off the counter and grabs the strainer where Spirit left it next to the stove and holds it above the sink as he pours the linguine into it. “This isn’t going to be like when you tried making your own peanut sauce or when you made tacos with shrimp fettuccine, is it?”

“There are no mystery ingredients or twists to this meal,” he says, going back to the oven to retrieve the pot of vegetables. Steam comes out with an angry hiss as he removes the lid and tips the pasta into the strainer. “I even bought the linguine from the store on my way home.”

“Very promising.” Moving to pull plates and cups from the cupboard, she glances at the time on the stove. From the schedule that she saw a few days ago, she knows Marie isn’t leaving the DWMA for another half an hour, and Azusa soon after, and she wants neither clairvoyant to know she’s coming, especially after yesterday. Relaxing slightly, she leaves the plates next to Spirit and takes the drinks to the table. “It does smell good.”

“I hope so.” Spirit joins her at the table, plates and forks in hand. “Otherwise, we’ll be ordering pizza.”

Spearing a zucchini slice and looping pasta around the fork, Maka takes a bite and chews slowly, giving a nod after a moment and sinking into the meal. “It’s good.”

“Finally, a success.” Relief replaces the look of apprehension on Spirit’s face and he picks up his fork as well and takes a bite. “It did smell debatable for a moment there just before you came home.”

“Wise to mention that after I tasted the food,” she says wryly, reaching over to pour soda into her glass. “It’s a meal to repeat in my book.”

“A high compliment,” says Spirit. “I’ll add it to the recipe box.”

They fall into a comfortable silence; sitting with Spirit and doing something ordinary like eating a home cooked meal gives Maka a sense of normalcy; a superficial feeling that holds as long as she doesn’t examine herself too much. She pushes a chunk of tomato around on her plate absentmindedly. It’s a welcome sensation that sits awkwardly the more it sinks in-she must either be incomplete to feel normal, or accept the loneliness that comes with being unable to share the whole of who she is.

There used to be someone who she could share everything with, a voice from the back of her mind whispers as her grip on her fork tightens.

The clearing of Spirit’s throat keeps her from thinking any further. “Speaking of meals,” he starts, setting down his fork with a clink, “How did breakfast go with your mother?”

“Breakfast?” After the mall, it takes a beat to remember the morning, which feels as distant as a childhood memory. She blinks, gathering her thoughts. “It went well. Awkward at first, but it got better after I almost choked on a pancake.”

Spirit’s eyes widen. “You choked?”

“Nearly,” she corrects. “It helped break the ice, though.”

“Next time, please choose a way that doesn’t put your life in danger.” He gives a smile as he says this, but the concerned look on his face makes it clear he is only half-joking.

“I’ll keep it in mind.” A twinge of nerves jumps to life in her stomach as she decides how to bring up the proposition her mother made at the end of breakfast. She had caught Maka off-guard when she suggested the trip as they had walked out of the diner-they had gotten into such a good rhythm of back and forth that she hadn’t wanted to ruin it by saying no.

“Anything else interesting happen then?” Spirit almost seems to read her mind. Loosening the tie around his neck, he adds, “Or that you want to talk about?”

“Well, there is, actually.” She abandons the rest of her plate and gives her fingers a small squeeze for courage. “We were talking about the summer and spending more time together.”

“That’s great!” Spirit continues to work the tie knot loose. “When are you planning to see her again?”

“We made plans for the weekend,” she answers. In a rush, she tacks on, “She also brought up the idea of going on a trip together.”

His hands freeze in pulling off the tie, shock turning his expression almost comically blank. “A trip?”

“To Silver Canyon,” she says quickly. “Just a tour to sightsee and camping out for the night. We’d be back the next afternoon.”

Spirit doesn’t answer, but instead he gives a tiny half-nod. There’s a far-off haziness spreading from his eyes and across his face.

Tentatively, Maka asks, “Papa?”

With a start, he comes back. “Wha-I’m sorry,” he blurts out in a voice louder than usual. “I think that sounds like a wonderful idea for a trip.”

Her brow furrows as she frowns. “You do?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Spirit’s tone is bright, nearly the exact kind of cheery that he puts on to keep things normal. “It’s a good way to build up your bond again.”

“I don’t know.” Twisting and crumpling her napkin, she shrugs. “I thought you would think it was too fast.”

Spirit meets her eyes then. “Do you think it’s going too fast?”

There’s a long pause-she hasn’t had much time to give the trip much thought, but now that she does, it doesn’t feel like a burden or an awkward thing to endure.

She holds her gaze with Spirit as she shakes her head.

“Then you should go then!” The animation in Spirit’s voice doubles and he rises from the table, giving her a one-armed hug. “Do you want to call her now?”

“We won’t be going until the end of August,” Maka answers hastily. Her head ducks slightly as she says, “And I already told her I would. I just wanted to run the idea before I told you.”

“Oh.” His hand drops, but he gives her a smile. “That’s perfect.” Spirit picks up her plate, along with his own. “It makes me happy to hear that.”

Spirit’s words aren’t a lie, Maka knows all of his tells, but there is something else that hides in them as he moves back into the kitchen. After a moment, she begins to clear the rest of the table and helps Spirit clean the dishes mostly in silence. She excuses herself to her room when they finish, giving him a squeeze on the shoulder as she leaves, although he doesn’t seem to completely register it.

When she reaches her room, she closes the door and moves across to perch on the edge of her bed. She stares at the floor and listens to Spirit’s muffled footsteps as he moves from the kitchen to the living room, an odd phantom pain twisting in her chest. Agreeing to go on the trip was the right thing to do, she knows that and she knows Spirit knows it as well, but there is no way to escape the pain of change, even when it’s for the better.

It doesn’t dissolve the feeling that her heart is splitting in two, though.

* * *

The moon is high in the sky by the time Maka reaches the tiny shack in the woods, brushing leaves from her hair and dirt from her clothes as she emerges into the clearing. Her nose wrinkles as she looks at her watch and sees it is closer to eleven than ten. Moving only on foot is always slow going, but tonight is worse since it took Spirit an unusually long time to go upstairs and to bed after dinner, and an even longer time to hear snores coming from his room.

Pushing her irritation to the side, she heads towards the shack, hand already on the knob when the sensation of being watched strikes her the same way that it did that morning. It hits her with the force of a freight train, and she pivots around so quickly she nearly twists her ankle, scanning the forest frantically.

Her head tilts up, as if by concentrating hard enough she can hear whatever is out there. The feeling is nothing like the rancid aura of the demon or poltergeist at the mall, but Maka’s heart still pounds in her chest the more she looks around and senses nothing. “Who’s there?”

Moments stretch out into minutes as she waits, clutching her bag like a weapon, knuckles turning white. And then, from one second to another, the weight of being watched lifts and dissipates, vanishing as abruptly as it appeared.

Maka still doesn’t move, listening to the hushed silence of the forest. When it finally becomes apparent that no one is going to answer, her grip relaxes, although the tension coiling under her skin does not.

Swallowing, Maka takes one last hard look around herself and, without turning, opens the door and slowly backs into the shack. She closes the door as she throws a glance over her shoulder, barely able to make out anything in the room. Adrenaline continues to course through her veins, along with nausea from being in a space so small, even though her perception says there’s nothing there. She tries to calm herself, but in the seconds it takes to flick on the flashlight on her phone and shine it around the shack, she’s transported back to the muggy murk of her basement, the demon’s voice crawling into her ears as the edges of the Rift lap at her feet and drag her in.

The hammering of her heart is enough to swallow her whole; she sinks to the floor gracelessly, dull waves of pain shooting up from her knees as she gulps down air, struggling to chase out the suffocating feeling in her lungs. Her arms wrap around her stomach as she tries and fails to control her breathing-it’s been so long since the memories from six years ago have been able to suck her into a panic attack that it carries her away before she can stop it.

It takes a long time for the panic to release Maka, loosening its hold in stops and starts. The coping methods that she used have been worn down by time, not nearly as effective as they were before.

Her head is swimming when she finally feels like she can breathe again, and she bows over, hands dropping to brace herself against the floor. _It’s okay,_ she mouths to herself in a near silent whisper until she can convince herself she believes it. Gritting her teeth, she forces herself to her feet in one motion, wobbling dangerously as she finds her balance.

Maka plunges forward in a half-stumble before her footing is completely stable, colliding into the rickety table in the middle of the room and veering away towards the portal. There is no time to waste on being frustrated, or taking the time to recover, but she still finds herself biting her tongue against the involuntary tears burning in the corner of her eyes. When she enters the portal, she closes her eyes; even though it makes no difference, she prefers the darkness of her own making.

Upon exiting the dark of the portal and into the bright light of the DWMA’s main hallway, however, a couple tears trickle free against the light. It takes several moments for her eyes to adjust and she pauses against the wall, swinging her bag from her shoulder and blindly fishing around inside.

Touching metal, her hand wraps around the broken probe she stole from Stein’s laboratory after Azusa and the rest decided against searching for Soul. She pulls it out and gives a snort as she contemplates the wires poking out from the caved-in remnants that used to be the machine’s upper half. Being forbidden by the DWMA to look for Soul has been a thorn in her side, but if they had actually believed it was a rule she would listen to, then they didn’t know her at all. In the nights she’s spent walking along the Rift, half of those had been right after a shift with Marie. And although she had only managed to get the probe across the Rift a half a dozen times before a monster in the Rift got hold of it, she’d been able to build a rudimentary map of Abeyance from the footage the probe captured.

Lifting the probe up to her eye, she briefly wonders how she’s going to be able to swap it out for another; it had been easy enough to sneak this one from the pile of discarded machines Stein kept in the corner of his lab, but stealing a brand new probe would be a much more difficult task. Sighing, she tucks the probe back away and starts to walk to the elevator-there’s no use in wondering about something she has no choice but to be successful in.

She is lucky as she makes her way to the elevator-there is no one in the halls or anyone standing in the elevator when the doors opens with a small chime. Nervously, she thumbs the button for Stein’s floor and only relaxes when the elevator closes and no lights for the other floors come on.

The elevator whirs as it travels downwards; Maka stares up at the mission listings lining the walls: there are so many listings that they are starting to overlap each other, some of them turning yellow at the edges. Unbidden, guilt rises up and gnaws at her conscience; if she had accepted the offer to form a bond with the ghost from last night, ( _hadn’t quit,_ her mind berates), then she would have been able to take some of these missions, lessen the burden that rests on the DWMA’s overstretched reaper force.

Forcing her gaze away, Maka closes her eyes and inhales slowly. It doesn’t matter what logic or her conscience tells her; she’s made her choice and there is no going back. Whatever consequences will result from it is something to face in the future, after she finds Soul.

When the elevator chimes again, she jumps slightly, hand going to her bag and excuse primed on her lips. The laboratory is empty and shrouded in darkness, however. She pauses just outside the elevator doors, listening hard. There’s no sound of Stein rolling around in his rickety chair, or any sign of him in general; she waits for another beat and then she moves in, feeling against the wall for the light switch.

Just before she flicks on the lights, she stops. For all she knows, Stein could have the lab rigged with cameras or traps-she can’t turn back for fear of the latter, but at least she can try to avoid being caught on camera. Slowly, she eases her way along the perimeter of the laboratory, fingers grazing against the wall. Stein keeps any technology that has to do with the Rift in a row of cabinets towards the very back of the lab, though she doesn’t remember if it needs a key or not.

Her breath catches when she nearly runs into the first cabinet; splaying her hands across its front, she finds the handles and gives them a gentle tug, a smile spreading across her face when the doors open with no resistance.

Squinting, she looks for any machine that resembles the probe, moving onto the next cabinet when she finds nothing close to it. Searching the second goes the same way, and she moves onto the last cabinet with an increasing desperation.

She strikes gold in the bottom shelf, feeling the smooth, familiar curve of a new probe. Eagerly, Maka pulls the probe from its spot, holding it close to her face to inspect it. Minus the scratches and destroyed top half, the probe is exactly the same as the one in her bag.

Setting down the probe on the floor, she takes the broken probe from her bag and buries in the far corner of the cabinet. As far as she knows, the exploration missions into the Rift have been canceled, so she mouths a silent wish as she arranges the shelf into neat lines again that it will be a long ways into the future till Stein looks at this shelf.

Putting away the new probe, she lets out a small grunt as she straightens and carefully shuts the cabinet doors, the knot of tension in her chest finally easing for the first time this night.

“Find what you were looking for?”

Maka nearly drops her bag as the lights turn on with a click and she whirls around, choking off a scream. The light blinds her temporarily, but the glare of Stein’s glasses is still clear. He sits in his rolling chair with his head nearly lolling off its back as he stares at her impassively, one foot planted on either side.

“There’s nothing I was looking for.” The lie falls awkwardly from her lips and she resists the urge to hide her bag behind her back. “I was looking for you.”

“Without knocking or switching on the lights?” Stein’s head tilts to one side fractionally. “Odd way to do it.”

“I thought you could be sleeping and I didn’t want to scare you,” she answers defensively, avoiding his gaze. Like Azusa, Stein has a way of staring at her like he already knows what she’s going to answer and he’s merely conversing with her as a formality, except he has none of the powers the clairvoyant has.

“And I thought you quit.” When she doesn’t answer, Stein continues, “There are a limited number of ways I can be startled, and being woken up by a trespassing teenager is not one of them.” He rolls forward a few feet. “I also do not sleep, I nap.”

“Okay.” She pauses, blinking as she struggles to think of something that will distract Stein. Every time she has spoken to him, he throws her off with his answers and it ruins her ability to sell an obvious lie. Clearing her throat, she says, “I guess it’s a moot point now.”

“Maybe.” Conceding the point with a slight tip of his head, he adds on, “As to why you’re here is not, though.”

Gritting her teeth, she says, “Obviously I didn’t mean what I said, but after what happened last night-” Maka breaks off. It only takes remembering to find her anger. She begins to pace, jabbing a finger in Stein’s direction. “Why would you agree to something like that?”

“I have no answer for you because I didn’t agree to it.” Stein rolls away from his corner, narrowly avoiding crashing into his lab bench. “I only came to observe.”

She stops moving, giving a snort. “If you wanted to observe a bonding, then you must be disappointed.”

“That wasn’t what I was interested in.” Reaching for a test tube, Stein examines the clear liquid inside. “I told Azusa and Marie that you’d most likely refuse, but they still insisted on trying.”

“They should have listened to you.” She can’t keep the bitterness from bleeding into her words. Biting back the rest of what she wants to say, she trails towards the lab bench, glancing at Stein. There are a number of odd things sprawled out on the bench, including a small silvery-white tube etched with strange markings and a larger, slightly smoking cube sitting next to it. “What was it you wanted to see then?”

“If you were still bonded to Soul.”

For a moment, Maka’s mouth works, but no words come out. It takes almost a minute before she can speak, the odd dreams she’s had since Soul left rising to the surface of her thoughts.

“What do you mean?” she manages finally. “Sou-he’s gone. He went into Abeyance, there’s nothing that can survive that distance.”

He makes a slight shrug, putting the tube back in its holder. “No one can be sure of anything that hasn’t happened before.”

“But Marie and Azusa both said that our bond was gone.” Her head is swimming; the need to leave burns more than ever, but there is no way she can go without ensuring that Stein won’t mention her visit to anyone. “They would have been able to tell if there was anything left.”

“Supernatural abilities aren’t infallible,” Stein replies, taking up the smaller cube from the bench and twisting it. “And the biggest surprises come out of the things you least expect.”

“I can’t talk about this.” The words burst out, deafening in comparison to Stein’s muted voice, but this conversation is running dangerously close to fanning the spark of hope inside of her into a flame, and she can’t live like that. Hope is cutting, immaterial, and more monstrous than anything else she has ever faced. Action was better than hoping; it made her feel like she was moving toward something, while hope kept her locked in place, wishing for imaginary things.

“Fine.” He gives the cube another twist; it emanates a golden light strikingly similar to the light Marie’s purification ritual leaves behind. “Then maybe you want to talk about the real reason you came here.”

“I have already.” The nervous, almost frenetic rhythm in her voice returns. “I told you I was looking for you.”

“You couldn’t have expected to find me sleeping in one of the cabinets over there.” Stein sets the cube down and picking up a pair of crucible tongs. Pulling the lid off of the larger cube, white smoke escapes from the inside with a violent hiss and he points at her with the tongs. “Your aura also says you’re lying.”

Looking up, Maka spies the aura mirrors paneling the ceiling, something she had always taken for reflective ceiling tiles. The lighter shades of green that used to exist at the edges of her aura have become darker, bordering the black-green diamond lying in the center and pulsating with the beat of her heart. The diamond itself has grown, and the cracks zigzagging through it have multiplied, though she still can’t see what color lies beneath.

“Fine, you caught me,” she says with a scowl, turning away as she thinks quickly. “I wasn’t looking for you.”

“We have established that much.” Dipping the tongs inside of the cube, Stein pulls out a tube frothing over with black blood. In one fluid motion, he tips a few drops onto the cube. Temporarily, the blood hovers, slowed down by the light, but then it falls onto the table, boring holes into the metal.

Maka watches with an involuntary fascination. “What are you doing?”

“When we learned what that creature was doing with the Rift, Marie asked that I find a way to counteract the effects of its blood.” Stein puts back the tube in the cube and replaces the lid. “It clearly isn’t completely effective.”

At his words, Maka takes a closer look at the bench and sees that the blood is slowly evaporating away. Not only that, but the blood appears to be congealed somewhat, the tiny craters in the metal not nearly as deep as they were when Stein showed her the black blood months ago.

“It’s close, though.” Her tone is grudgingly impressed, and then a thought occurs to her. “Have the creature been seen again?” she asks, gaze trailing away from the holes in the bench and to Stein. “Is there any sign of the Rift weakening?”

“Not more than when poltergeists and other creatures make their way across,” answers Stein. “As for the person with black blood, they haven’t been seen since your encounter with them in the Rift.”

She nods, relaxing, and then she pauses. “Person?” she says, mouth forming a small frown. “So are you saying they’re human?”

“It’s difficult to analyze this kind of blood, but I have managed to run a few preliminary tests on it.” Giving the silvery cube a sharp twist, the light radiating from it goes out with a snuff. “There is something human in it, although how much is not certain. Perhaps, it’s why the blood is so good at dissolving the Rift.”

“How could something-” Maka breaks off, “ _Someone_ human and alive exist in Abeyance? I thought only dead people and things could be there, other than witches.”

“Abeyance is an artificial dimension.” Stein makes a small shrug. “The only exclusive place for the dead is death.”

“Before the Rift, I thought something seemed human about them, but afterward, I thought they might have become something between a demon and witch.” Maka’s frown deepens-monster or human, she blames them, in part, for Soul leaving, for being the reason they were forced into the Rift in the first place. Her anger vacillates between them, herself, and Soul; without the stress of the fight in the Rift, maybe Soul wouldn’t have gone, if she had done more, _been_ more, then maybe he would have stayed, maybe-

But he had left, with no warning or explanation. And she could not blame that on herself or the creature.

She forces herself to speak rather than drown in the sea of her thoughts. “But if they’re working against the DWMA, then I guess it doesn’t matter what they are.”

Her tone isn’t completely convincing, but Stein nods, though his expression doesn’t reveal if he agrees with her or not. “The best thing would be if they never show up again,” he says. “But there is no way to be certain of that or whatever else is coming, so the next best thing to do is be prepared.”

“There’s not much I can do to be prepared now,” mutters Maka under her breath.

Stein raises an eyebrow slightly in interest. “So we finally come to the real reason for your midnight visit.”

Her mouth snaps shut; she hadn’t meant to give away anything “I-”

Cutting her off with a shake of his head, Stein pulls forward the test tube holder again and uncorks a tube filled with a light-colored liquid. “I would have thought you would have tried the armory before coming here.”

“The armory?” Maka repeats blankly.

“There are no weapons for reapers here.” Holding up the tube to the light, Stein turns it this way and that way as he examines it. “Everything here is for either meisters, mediums, or my own personal research.”

It takes another beat for Stein’s words to click and then Maka nearly trips over herself to look like she knew what he was talking about. “I just want to help,” she says, summoning a sheepish indignance in her voice. “It’s frustrating not to be able to do anything.”

She resists the urge to look up at the ceiling. “To get into the armory would mean getting past Miss Maud and there’s no way that _she_ would let me take a weapon,” Maka says. “And besides, I’m not bonded with a ghost anymore, and clearly I can’t bring myself to bond with another one so going to the armory is pointless.” In being careful to speak in only vague, general truths, she strikes too close to her own feelings. Her hands clench at her sides. “I thought I would have a better chance with you, that there might be something here I could use.”

Silence follows; Maka avoids looking at Stein, but after several moments, curiosity gets the best of her and she peeks at him out of the corner of her eye. He’s put down the tube in his hand, and as usual, his expression doesn’t tell her much, but the fact he hasn’t immediately given her up to Marie or Azusa is something.

“Come back in a few weeks,” he says. “Marie and Azusa didn’t believe your words either, but they decided you should have some time off.” He brings the tube to his eye again before pulling out its stopper. “I’ll see what I can come up for you.”

Her eyes widen. “But wh-”

“It’s as much an experiment for me, as it is to help you,” he answers with a wave of his free hand. “I’ve often wondered how far a reaper’s abilities extend without a bond.”

“I-” Maka begins to protest, but stops at a look from him. “All right.” A ripple of gratitude underlies her reluctance. “Thank you.”

“The results from whatever I engineer will be a better thank you.” Stein takes a dropper filled with a red solution and lets a few drops fall into the tube. “Now I suggest you get going in case your father does a midnight check on the house.”

“Right.” Relief flows through Maka and it takes everything not to bolt. “Thank you, I’ll check back in two weeks.”

“Give or take a few days,” says Stein as she exits the room. “Though it would be nice if you call ahead before you break into my lab next time.”

* * *

The darkness has a body.

It has hands and fingers that wrap around Soul’s ankles as it drags him deeper into itself; lips that press on his ear and teeth that scrape against his skin as a voice, muted and metallic, whispers against his eardrums. Something tells him that the voice does not belong to the darkness, though it’s too indistinct to make out anything. The only thing he can make out is that it rises and falls in the same intervals.

He’s not sure if he’s falling up or down, or whether there is an end to the darkness at all. All he knows is that wherever he is being pulled, there is something or someone waiting for him.

The darkness continues to draw him further in.

* * *

Maka’s breaths come out in icy puffs as she navigates through the tangled growth of the forest. The area she chose to scope out tonight is closer to Orcus Hollow than her house-she would have liked to resume the route she had been following for the past two weeks, but her unexpected meeting with Stein ate up too much of her time. Her only option tonight was to retrace a part of the Rift that the probe had been able to cross over.

When the trees begin to thin and the ground goes marshy, she pauses and pulls the bag from her shoulder, closing her eyes. Before her venture into the Rift weeks ago, it had been invisible to her; the most she had noticed when she entered into it was a swooping feeling in her stomach and an abrupt pressure on her shoulders, like its darkness had a weight to it.

Taking a deep breath, she opens her eyes and gazes up at the gauzy surface of the Rift. She doesn’t know if it was her journey into the Rift that made it visible to her, or if it was because she’s used her perception more in the past months than she has in her entire life. Either way, it doesn’t change the fact that, on clear nights, she can see the Rift stretching up into the sky from her window, hanging like a translucent veil over the world.

Licking her lips, she hesitantly lifts her hand and reaches out; her fingers pass through the Rift with no resistance. For a moment, she lets her hand linger in the middle of the Rift, and then she pulls back. The silent stillness of the Rift is unsettling; it rasps against her soul like tiny thorns, the horror of death with none of its dignity.

She shakes her head and grits her teeth, pushing the feeling out of her mind. In the DWMA’s history, there have been a handful of mediums who were able to see the Rift, and half of them had become mad, unable to bear seeing the Rift all the time with no respite. When Azusa told her about it a few weeks ago, she said it was also one of the reasons that the DWMA hadn’t recruited Maka when they first met, and for Maka, it was another truth to hide, if she didn’t want to be kicked out of the DWMA forever.

Pressing a button on the underbelly of the probe, the machine comes to life with a whir. The DWMA detects and tracks the Rift through expeditions with probes like these, spikes in paranormal activity, and old records.

The probe continues to whir for a long moment as it comes to life, and then eight legs protrude out from its body. It gets up awkwardly, pausing, before it starts to crawl forward. Maka trails after it, holding her breath, as the probe moves alongside the Rift.

Finally, the probe stops moving, a red light flashing from the lights that line its body. Swearing under her breath, Maka sighs and walks over to the probe, bending down to pick it up. Finding a spot where the Rift had formed a stable hole large enough for the probe to enter and come back was rare, even here, where the Rift already weak. The fact that her aura can close holes in the Rift if she comes too close is another complication that makes searching along the Rift even more time-consuming.

She walks along the Rift and stops after ten minutes, resetting and putting the probe back on the forest floor and quickly retreating as it searches for a gap in the Rift. The probe walks for longer than it did the first time, but in the end, it stops and the red lights flash again.

For half an hour, Maka repeats this process, irritation growing in prickly waves under her skin every time the probe comes to a stop with its red lights glowing. After the tenth time the probe flashes its lights, she checks her watch, sees that it is nearly one am, and bites back a scream. There is too much activity, both from the DWMA and hikers, in the forest during the day to search when there’s light out, meaning she’s only able to search the Rift at night. Sucking in a breath, she resists the temptation to kick the probe where it sits on the ground, lights blinking calmly at her.

When her frustration cools and she’s able to think past attempting to rip the Rift apart with her bare hands, Maka begins to walk back and forth, looking from the probe and to the Rift. There is a breeze in the woods tonight, but the veil of the Rift remains as still as the dead. She stares at its gossamer shimmer, biting on her lip as she considers the idea forming in her head.

Fingers beating out a rapid rhythm against her legs, Maka clenches her hands abruptly, blows out a breath and stretches her perception as far as it will travel. The wind quickens as she searches for a dark weight against the perception field, rustling her hair and sending a flurry of noise in the trees around her.

Minutes pass as Maka traces a path back and forth through her perception, but she doesn’t give up until she feels a heaviness tugging at her from the corner of the field. She concentrates, closing her eyes, and considers the presence of the poltergeist. The creature can’t be more than a mile or so away, but there is something strange about it, a gnarled knot of rot tinged with a feeling that she can’t quite identify. It makes her uneasy, the way the feeling tries to draw her in, how it almost makes her feel like she wants it to.

With effort, she yanks herself out of the quasi-trance that using her perception puts her in. She snatches up the probe from the ground and heads off into the direction of the poltergeist. There is no time for doubt to seep in, only to deal with what comes as it comes.

She knows she has reached the poltergeist when the air becomes heavy and the light from the moon dims, plunging the area into a darker night than everywhere else. At this, Maka slows her step-it’s common for a horde of poltergeists close to complete decay to block out light, but she’s never seen one poltergeist with that ability.

It may be a good thing in this case, she thinks to herself as she wanders further into the bubble of darkness. The more a poltergeist has decomposed, the more destructive whatever’s left of its soul becomes, until it is corrosive enough to wear away a hole in the Rift.

Stilling, she reaches out with her perception again. The poltergeist is close-not close enough to see yet, but she can feel the unbalanced, frenzied pulse of its soul like it is her own heartbeat. Shifting to hold the probe in one hand, she takes out her phone and turns on the flashlight, carefully scanning the darkness for any movement.

A few minutes pass before she spots the poltergeist; it sits unmoving at the base of heavily slanted tree less than twenty feet away. There is nothing human in the poltergeist’s appearance anymore-the parts of the poltergeists that are not covered in black rot are split open with cracks of bone white that spread down the sides of its face. Its face is entirely caved in, oozing a dark liquid that turns into shadow as soon as it touched air.

The same unease when she first sensed the poltergeist returns, except it doesn’t fade this time. From experience, she knows poltergeists lose control of themselves as they decay, that they transform into a writhing mess as their soul comes apart and they are consumed by the craving for an uncorrupted soul, attacking any living thing that comes too close with a blind rage and desperation.

But this poltergeist, putrefying and all but wasted away, is completely motionless.

Even when the light from her phone falls on the poltergeist, it remains unmoving. Its eyes, or what is left of them, are fixed on something she can’t see. Edging forward, Maka lets out a soft whistle to try to get the poltergeist’s attention, but as soon as she does, she stops, a paralyzing feeling wrapping around her legs.

There is a wildness in the poltergeist’s face that raises the hairs on the back of her neck and keeps her from moving any closer. She eyes the poltergeist and then the distance between it and herself. Although the poltergeist hasn’t even blinked, she is certain that it is watching her, that it has been tracking her from the moment she stepped into the clearing.

She summons her courage, even as her mouth runs dry. There have been worse things that she has faced down and survived. Clearing her throat, she takes a step towards the poltergeist. “Hey.”

The poltergeist moves its head towards the sound of her voice, a sharp and abrupt twist that would have snapped its neck if it had still been alive. Its eye sockets are still visible in the sunken, festering crater that is now its face, black liquid steadily seeping from them.

Maka recognizes the liquid just as the feeling when she first sensed the poltergeist rises in her chest as it lurches up from the base of the tree, splattering a trail of inky fluid on the ground around it.

_Black blood._

An irrational desire to laugh bubbles up in her throat as the feeling bends her mind to its beat, envelopes her thoughts with a wild euphoria.

_Madness._

A fragment of clarity reaches her before the madness consumes her; she stumbles away and feels the bloated and decaying fingers of the poltergeist scrape against the back of her neck. The world tilts on its side as she trips, breaking her fall with her arm, twigs biting into her palm. She rolls to the side and scrambles away, narrowly avoiding the swipes of the poltergeist.

Its madness laps at the edges of her mind, dragging her in. She struggles to keep her thoughts of _runrunrun_ afloat, hands and feet scrabbling backwards across the ground like a drowning person clawing for air.

Black blood drips onto Maka’s clothes as the poltergeist lunges for her again with startling speed. Instinctively, she kicks out and strikes it squarely in the chest, pitching it backwards. It gives her enough time to force herself up and into a sprint, but she can already hear the poltergeist following behind her, footsteps speeding up from a slow, rhythmic thumping into a frantic run.

Terror mixed in with deja vu washes over Maka, sharp stings of pain flickering across her arms and face as she plunges through the forest, veering out of the way of trees, although she can’t do anything but push through the branches that spring up in her path.

As she runs, her breath comes out in feverish gasps-the poltergeist can’t be more than a few steps behind her, something that should be impossible for a poltergeist so rotted away. In its state, it should barely be capable of walking for more than a dozen feet, yet it shows no sign of slowing down. A high-pitched noise in between a shriek and laugh emanates from the poltergeist, the sound of madness, and winds in Maka’s ears, raking against her eardrums.

For a beat, it’s a painful cacophony; then something clicks into place as the laugh reaches the depths of Maka’s mind. A dreamy feeling comes over her, a result of the madness unfurling its roots, though she finds that neither that fact, or anything else, matters much to her anymore.

She is vaguely aware of the enclosing footsteps behind her, but her concern has evaporated, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. It doesn’t make sense to run when where she wants to be is behind her, when the sway of the madness is inviting her to stop, encouraging to listen and get lost in its delirium.

 _Keep running_ , a voice screams at her as she begins to slow down. She should cover her ears with her hands, a tiny part of her says, and her fingers twitch in response, but she can’t quite bring herself to do it.

 _Don’t stop_ , the voice begs, but it’s too late-the poltergeist’s voice has weaved its way into Maka’s mind too profoundly.

It’s not her choice anymore.

She catches a glimpse of the stars between the gaps of the trees as she stops, and a laugh of her own bubbles up as she stretches her arm out to the sky. Her father used to call the stars guardian angels, but there is no use for angels when they are too far away to save her.

The poltergeist’s arms clamp around her.

* * *

The darkness lets go of Soul with a hiss, and he snaps back with a jolt, arms and legs flailing as he tries to find a place to stand mid-air. Eventually, reason returns to him as he becomes used to the feeling of weightlessness, but not before he flips himself around backwards.

Once he is steady and upright again, he looks about himself; it’s apparent that this is not an ordinary dream, though he has no idea where he is or what the dream is supposed to mean. At first it seems like the darkness has dumped him in the middle of nowhere and the best thing is to force himself awake, but then he sees her.

Maka.

He has to blink to make sure he isn’t seeing things, but she doesn’t disappear, a light from somewhere behind her framing her body. Building panic makes him tense up-he should wake up, he _needs_ to wake up, but there is something in Maka’s expression that makes him pause. Unlike last time, she is unconscious, but her face is coiled up in a grimace, arms fluttering at her sides like she’s pinned down.

Kicking out, he drifts towards her tenatatively, ready to pull himself awake if the hunger rises, but it doesn’t come. Instead, he hears the familiar wavelength of Maka’s soul as he comes within arm’s reach-only there is something else knotted in it, putrid and decayed.

Swallowing, Soul lifts his hand over hers, then draws back, fingers clenching and unclenching. His gaze goes back to Maka’s face and he notices how her breathing is becoming more and more labored, the sound of her soul dwindling little by little.

Gritting his teeth, Soul grabs Maka’s hand before he can think twice.

His vision is immediately transported to somewhere else; he’s running in the middle of a forest, chased by something he can’t see. Terror rises in his chest, until he realizes it’s not him who is running, but Maka.

There is a sound coming from whatever is chasing her-it seems like only a scream, but then it turns into something else, a laugh, a song that slows Maka’s steps.

The realization turns him frantic; Soul returns to the dark, though he can still see the forest through Maka’s vision. Shaking her arm, he pushes his face close to her ear. “Keep running!”

However, Maka continues to slow; a lurch swoops through Soul’s stomach as he catches sight of the poltergeist behind her, and he gives her arm another shake, though it does nothing. “Don’t stop!”

The sight of stars intermingling with the canopy of the forest comes into view as the poltergeist wraps its arms around Maka. Soul moves so he is in front of Maka, grabbing both of her shoulders. The skin under her eyes is nearly translucent and she is barely breathing at all. “Maka!”

Her eyelids flicker briefly at her name, and he calls her name again, hand moving to her face. “Maka, wake up!”

This time her eyes snap open, meeting his gaze. She blinks and moves a little under his grasp. “Soul?”

“You need to wake up,” he says, dropping his hand and letting go of her entirely. “It’s not safe.”

“Why?” Maka’s expression is unsure, though her voice holds none of the anger he deserves.

Soul can no longer see the poltergeist now that he is no longer touching her, but he can still imagine it. Drawing closer, he resists the urge to take her hand again. “You have to trust me.”

For a moment, she wavers and then she nods, kicking off into the direction of the light. Right before she disappears from view, she turns to look back at Soul, but he waves her off. “Wake up!”

He’s too busy looking at Maka to notice the darkness has taken hold of him again until he’s yanked back into nothing.

* * *

The stars and the rest of the world come back into Maka’s view in an explosion of light and color, Soul’s voice still ringing in her ears as she comes alive again. Against her skin, the poltergeist rasps a strange keening noise, but the hold of its madness is muted.

In her mouth, she tastes bile from the scent of the poltergeist’s rotting body and she fights the urge to flail. Her arms are locked to her sides, but her legs are free. She jerks her knee upward as hard as she can, the force knocking the poltergeist to the side, and she scrambles away and up to her feet. Catching her balance, she aims another kick at its head, feeling her foot sink into the crater of its face.

With a grunt, she wrenches herself free and pushes herself back into a run despite the screaming muscles in her legs. The poltergeist does not chase after her, however. In the fleeting glance she throws behind her shoulder, it is hardly moving at all, still on the ground.

Maka runs until her body refuses to cooperate, doubling over from the sharp ache in her lungs, the shaking in her legs sends her in a crumpled mess on the ground. Her face presses against the dirt and she allows the panicked sobs she had been forcing down to escape, leaving her throat feeling like it’s been rubbed down with sandpaper. In spite of the noise, there is no sound of the poltergeist, no sound in the forest at all, except for her gasps and the roar of her heartbeat.

When she can breathe without feeling like her lungs are going to erupt into flames, she tilts her head up and lifts her hand to just below her eye. The unnatural cold in her palm lingers from where he held her hand, spreading from her fingers to her face.

Maka’s voice is more breath than whisper. “Soul.”


	5. Adumbrate

**Verb; to disclose something partially or incompletely; to foreshadow.**

* * *

A vicious kind of agony lighting from underneath Soul’s skin sends the world crashing down on him as soon as he opens his eyes, locking his voice in his throat and stealing from his lips the breath he doesn’t need. It ravages through his body like fire; the scar on his chest where Giriko cut him open feels like a brand, but despite the pain, all he can do is open his eyes.

The grey sky of Abeyance burns after being stuck in the dark for so long; something about the pain snaps and finally he can move, even if he can only writhe on the ground. A fog surrounds his mind, keeps him distant and his actions so clumsy that eventually he gives up and waits for the pain to pass. The pain is worse than the aftermath of vomiting up the potion, though not the worst he’s ever experienced, so he holds onto that thought. Another feeling thrums just below the pain, snakes its way through his body, though he can’t tell what it is.

Soul comes back to himself in pieces. When he can curl his fingers and toes without feeling like he’s about to explode, he rolls himself onto his side and up into a sitting position even as it sends his world spinning. Propping his legs up, he rests his head against his knees and feels his vision slowly right itself. The pain gradually fades away as well, but the other feeling does not.

The hunger churns in his gut and he grits his teeth-he’s not sure if it is a side effect of Medusa’s magic or how long he has stayed in Abeyance, but his hunger had become muted in the past days or weeks, so much so that he had nearly forgotten it existed.

Now, it comes alive with a violent awakening, constricting around his mind like a snake coiling around its prey. The thought makes him think of Medusa-he wouldn’t put it past the witch to lace his potion with something else, although he doesn’t have much choice other than to trust her word if he wants to avoid sleeping.

Lifting his head, he looks down at his hand and rubs his thumb across his palm, where Maka’s warmth still persists. A voice needles at him: if he hadn’t fallen asleep, hadn’t run out of the potion when he did, then what would have happened to her?

He continues to trace circles on his palm as the warmth slowly ebbs away, trying and immediately failing not to think of Maka. A loop of when he first saw her to when she left plays on repeat in his mind; it feels like it’s been so long since he saw her, but when she opened her eyes, he had recognized every fleck of gold in them. A whisper buried deep below his thoughts hopefully adds that there had been something like happiness in them when she had met his gaze.

Clenching his hands, he chases the memory out of his mind by giving his head a vigorous shake, and tries to distract himself by picking off the strands of spider silk clinging to his clothes. Still, that doesn’t keep the memory’s truth from digging a pit in the bottom of his stomach.

Their bond is still alive.

Before he had been able to deny it, but now as the last of her warmth dissipates, he can no longer pretend it isn’t true. Simultaneously, it is alarming, comforting, and something too complicated to identify-this is precisely what he had aimed to avoid by coming to Abeyance and making his deal with Medusa. But even though it’s selfish, he is unable to pretend that seeing Maka and knowing he isn’t completely alone in spite of being so far away, doesn’t soothe the exhaustion that’s been ravaging his mind since he entered Abeyance.

And yet it is this discovery, as he forces himself up and sways in the silent forest of dead souls, that makes him realize for the first time since he entered Abeyance that he is lonely. It stirs an ache in his chest, one that reverberates in the empty spaces in his heart and temporarily overshadows the hunger ingrained in him.

He moves, because staying still is deadly. There isn’t a rhythm or real direction in where he walks, but it doesn’t matter because just moving and swerving out of the way of cocoons and deserted spider webs is enough to keep his thoughts and feelings at bay. He even embraces the jagged sensation of hunger, although as it sinks down into his body, he starts to regret welcoming it.

There is no sun or star in the swirling grey sky, so he has no idea how long he was asleep for, and the grove of cocoons is uniform and endless so it feels like he is walking in circles. It seems like enough time has passed that Medusa’s voice will creep into his ear at any moment, but the longer Soul walks, the more the silence around him seems to thicken.

Meanwhile, the hunger crawling inside of him begins to grow; it’s dwelled in him so loudly for so long that he doesn’t notice it at first, but now he feels it shifting somewhere between his chest and gut. It possesses him with a sudden desperation, thrashing and howling like a beast, and grinds his walk to a standstill.

A sense not made of sight, sound, or touch stirs to life as he struggles to keep moving, dragging Soul’s gaze to the right. For a moment, he sees nothing, and then something weakly flailing grabs his attention.

His hunger releases him as soon as he spots the half-decayed soul trying to wriggle from its cocoon. Disgust mixes in with the craving his hunger calls up, but he can neither pull his gaze away nor stop himself from drifting closer. He stops just short of the cocoon, where the person finally takes notice of him.

Their flailing ceases and they raise a shaking hand towards him, mouth forming words that don’t quite leave their lips. They aren’t decayed in the same way as the poltergeists on Earth, but the color has been leached away and some parts of their body appear to be crumbling and chipping off, like a statue left exposed to the elements.

In reluctant steps, Soul inches closer until he is standing right in front of the person. He can hear fragments of their voice as they continue to attempt to speak to him, garbled and crackling like they have screamed so much they permanently frayed their vocal cords. There is nothing he can do for them in their state, he knows this, and even if he tried, the quivering ache in his hands from how hard he is working to suppress the hunger tells him it would not go well for them.

“Pl-please.” A word finally escapes from the soul, face tilting up to Soul. There is a desperate entreaty in their expression. “Please.”

It revolts him how hearing their voice almost breaks his resolve, even more so that he can’t bring himself to move away. “I’m sorry, I can’t,” Soul tells them, hands turning into quaking fists. “I can’t do anything.”

“But that isn’t true, is it?” murmurs a voice from behind him. The gleam of Medusa’s smile edges into the corner of Soul’s vision. “There is something you can do.”

“I won’t.” He twists around, and backs away from the witch.

“Are you certain?” She slithers forward in a fluid movement, and he recoils, but Medusa doesn’t touch him, hand darting out to grab the trapped soul by the hair and yank their head up. “You seemed a lot less sure when I was watching you earlier.”

The action sends the person’s scent wafting towards Soul, and if he was alive, he would be drawing blood from how hard his nails are digging into his skin. The confused terror in the soul’s eyes is a mirror to when he was freed from his cocoon two years ago.

“There’s no magic to preserve them now.” Medusa’s voice lowers to a hypnotic purr, free hand floating out to gesture to the forest of cocoons. “They’ll all disintegrate away eventually. Why not take advantage?”

Her words make sense, a part of Soul’s mind whispers to him. Horror drops his heart into the pit of his stomach as soon as he realizes he agrees with Medusa.

“I won’t,” he repeats, almost tripping over himself to get away from Medusa and the person. His words sound uncertain, like he’s trying to convince himself of something he doesn’t want to do.

For a moment, Medusa stares at him with a calculating gaze; some of the fear in the person’s eyes fades away and they start to struggle again.

Then she shrugs. “Alright.”

With a crack, she wrenches the head off of the dead person, tossing it away on the ground. One of the shadow snakes coiled around her arm detaches from her and glides onto what remains of the body, wriggling its way into the gaping hole where their head was.

Soul watches as the body twitches as the snake moves inside of it-eventually it emerges, carrying a glowing sphere in its mouth. The sight of it sends the hunger inside of him into a frenzy; it takes everything in him not to plunge forward, pry the soul from the snake, and swallow it whole.

Medusa moves forward and holds out her hand for the snake to drop the soul into, eyes never leaving Soul. Her gaze’s golden glow seems to increase as she pops it in her mouth.

A smile curves the witch’s lips as she chews and swallows. “But you will.”

* * *

**July**

* * *

Maka blows away the leaf dangling on her lips with an irritated huff as she emerges from the overgrown bushes lining the edge of the forest near her house. A trickle of sweat runs from the side of her face and down her neck, mixing in with the dirt smudged across her skin and leaving her with an overwhelmingly sticky feeling.

A frown twists on her face as she extracts a twig from her bangs, a move that makes her muscles ache dully. She resists the urge to rub the burning sensation from her eyes; working herself into an exhaustion that it only takes closing her eyes for an instant to fall asleep is the main reason she has spent so many nights searching along the Rift in the past two weeks.

But still she can’t dream.

Her fingers dig into the strap of her bag. For the past six years, sleeping and dreaming have bordered on the edge of disturbing and intolerable. There have been so many times in her life where she wished she could turn off her dreams and sleep free from nightmares of demons and poltergeists. That she didn’t have to watch everyone she has ever loved vanish one by one until they are all gone, leaving her trapped in that aloneness, unable to move and powerless to bring them back.

And now that she would give nearly anything to sink into the dark weight of a dream, sleep has barely touched Maka, leaving her exhausted and at the end of her patience. It’s a cruel irony that she has always been able to find Soul, and that after finally discovering she can, a bad bout of insomnia is what keeps her from it.

It makes a scream rise in her throat, although that will do nothing but cause Spirit to come out running with his shotgun. She funnels her agitation by sending a pinecone in her path sailing through the air and into the forest, pressing her fingers against the itch in her eyes. The glare from the rising sun sharpens the sting in them as she rounds the curve of the road that leads back to her house.

The light is so bright that she doesn’t spot her mother’s car sitting in the driveway at first, but as soon as she does, her heart drops into the pit of her stomach-her mother wasn’t supposed to visit until tomorrow. She pushes herself into a run, sneaking up her driveway in a half-crouch. The murmur of voices bleeding through the front door makes Maka pause on the porch; through the front window she catches sight of Kami with her back to her, and then Spirit comes into view, carrying a coffee mug in each hand.

“Shit.” Maka ducks below the window just in time, and waits, counting to ten before she allows herself to breath out. Easing out of her crouch and into an awkward hybrid of a crawl and a crabwalk, she listens hard as she moves toward the porch stairs and doesn’t rise until she has made it to the bottom.

Panting, she wipes the sweat from her face as she heads for the side of the house, thanking whatever stars looking out for her that Spirit never followed through on his vow to put in a fence three years ago.

Still, it isn’t as easy to climb up the rain gutter next to her room as it was when she was ten. If it hadn’t been for the fortifications that Spirit added in after a big storm last year, then it probably wouldn’t have held her weight at all. She drags herself onto the roof, swinging her bag off her shoulder and letting it land on the roof with a clunk.

Gulping down breaths, Maka lets herself rest for a beat and stares up at the sky, which is gradually transforming from the scarlet red of sunrise to its normal blue. In spite of her frustration, the memory of seeing Soul is enough to make it drain away. Thinking of him makes her heart twist in a strange ache-she’s still not sure how to feel towards him, but knowing he is out there, not completely gone, is all she needs for now.

She sucks in a breath, squashing her thoughts down, and pushes herself to her feet, taking her bag with her. It takes a minute to work her window open, fingers leaving dirty smears as impatience takes over. Eventually, it slides up with a small groan, and she pushes her way in. Her bag snags on the window sill, however, and she loses her balance, falling onto the floor with a loud thud.

Below her, the muffled rhythm of her parents’ voices stops and then Spirit calls out. “Maka?”

“I’m fine,” she yells, scrambling up and bolting for the bathroom. “A few of my books fell off the nightstand.”

“Are you sure?” His voice comes from the bottom of the stairs and grows closer as she makes it into the bathroom. “That sounded more than just books.”

“I’m sure,” she calls over her shoulder, swinging the door closed. She catches a glimpse of her dirt-smudged face and clothes as she twists the sink handle-there would have been no explanation if Spirit had seen her. She summons composure as she adds, “Taking a shower now so I’ll be down soon.”

“All right.” The footsteps on the stairs pause, although Spirit doesn’t sound entirely convinced. “Your mom is here so I’m making breakfast.”

“Oh, really?” Scrubbing some of the dirt off of her face, she tries to silence the pounding of her heart. “I’ll come down as soon as I can.”

“The pancakes won’t be ready for another fifteen minutes so take your time.” There is a distant creak and then the sound of Spirit going back down the stairs. “We’ll be in the kitchen.”

“Okay.” The sigh of relief Maka had been holding in finally escapes. She stares at the running stream of water coming from the faucet. There have been more close calls in the past year than there ever has been in her entire life; a voice that sounds more like warning than paranoia tells her that her luck isn’t going to hold forever, that one day soon she is going to be caught.

Turning off the water, Maka turns away from the sink and heads to the shower, tugging her shirt over her head. Memories of the day she tried to tell her parents about seeing ghosts float through her mind as she piles her clothes on the floor and steps into the shower. Too many worries weigh down her mind these days for her to add another one to her plate-if there ever comes a day where she’s forced to tell the truth about herself again, she knows she can at least rely on Spirit not to immediately send her to the psychiatric ward.

Shivering against the cold sting of the water, she thinks of Kami waiting for her downstairs and wonders if she’s sitting in her old seat at the table.

Tilting her head back, Maka closes her eyes. As for her mother, she’ll have to wait and see.

The shower peels away some of the fog hazing her mind, although she doesn’t feel any less tired. Getting out of the shower requires an effort far too intense for taking a single step; all Maka longs for at the moment is her bed, but she wouldn’t have been able to try to sleep anyways with her parents waiting for her. She looks towards the stairs as she exits the bathroom, pushing her hair from her face. It’s an odd sensation to know both of her parents are downstairs, familiar but alien at the same time.

She’s in and out of her room in a matter of minutes, wearing fresh clothes. Now that the adrenaline rush of sneaking back into the house has faded, a burning curiosity about why her mother is here takes its place. Tying her hair back in a ponytail, she descends the last of the stairs, giving a start as she glances in the living room and spies Kami sitting on the couch, phone in hand.

“There you are.” A look of relief crosses Kami’s face as Maka pauses at the entrance of the living room. She puts down her phone, gesturing to the kitchen. “I asked if I could help with breakfast, but I was sent over here instead.”

“It is Saturday,” she says, hovering near the edge of the room. There’s still a certain reluctance lingering in her bones that rises whenever she sees Kami after going a few days without seeing her; it makes even the smallest of actions difficult, though it’s slowly getting easier to ignore. “That was always his day to be the chef for breakfast.”

A small smile spreads across Kami’s lips. “Some things never change.”

Maka nods. “I think it’s comforting.”

There is a beat of silence as their exchange sinks in; Maka clears her throat as she is filled with an embarrassed awkwardness, a feeling that is mirrored in Kami’s expression. Even indirectly referring to the years Kami was away is something that suddenly puts the conversation on a knife’s edge.

Her gaze trails away from her mother. Their relationship is too delicate to discuss such a topic without damaging the progress they have made in the past weeks, for flimsy strands with no foundation to bear the weight of the world. To acknowledge it would be to realize how much emotional damage they are carrying while pretending it doesn’t exist, and she doesn’t think she can survive that right now.

“He still burns the pancakes on the edge and denies that he doesn’t, though,” Maka says quickly as Kami opens her mouth. “That hasn’t changed either.”

“And that is because I have never burned the pancakes ever,” Spirit interjects lightly from behind Maka. He has on the apron that she made him when she was ten, even though the strings are too short and he has to tie them together with a clip. “They always come out perfectly.”

Seeing Spirit relaxes Maka, even if the unease in the room remains. It is no longer nerve-wracking to be alone with Kami, but it’s still a comfort to know that he is there, no matter what. She leans into the arm he loops around her shoulders and looks up at him. “I suppose the charred black on the pancakes is just for show then.”

“It is an integral part in complementing the crispness of the bacon,” Spirit replies, tugging on her ponytail. He looks at Kami, and the expression on his face shifts and becomes slightly uncertain, although his smile stays in place. “I wasn’t sure if you still preferred eggs over bacon so I made an extra side of eggs.”

“You didn’t have to do that.” An embarrassed look spreads across Kami’s face, and she stands, correcting herself. “I mean, I am grateful, but you didn’t have to go to all that effort.” She fidgets with her purse as she speaks, something she only does when she is truly nervous.

“Cracking open a few more eggs is hardly any effort.” Spirit gestures to the kitchen with an overdramatic flourish. “Shall we?”

Maka is swept by a small push from Spirit’s arm into the hallway, which prevents her from observing whether he lets Kami pass first or if her mother fixes him with the stubborn look Maka often wears herself and forces him to go first. They don’t speak either, so slowing her step and straining her hearing also yields nothing.

It’s difficult to gauge where Spirit and Kami stand with each other; Maka watches the way they carefully navigate around each other as Spirit passes plates to Kami and her, movements too rigid to be natural. A frown pulls down at her mouth: they act so formal and polite with each other when she is around that she has no idea how they truly feel. What Spirit revealed when she asked if he looked for Kami after she left is the most he has shared since her mother resurfaced last year.

When her mother sits, she takes the seat next Maka instead of the one by Spirit, where she used to sit. There is a pause after they have all sat down-they seem to look at each other and yet not at all. With her fork, Maka pushes around a piece of pancake, but she doesn’t eat.

Spirit is the one to speak first, clearing his throat. “I know this feels a little out of the blue, but I want to explain why I put this meeting together.”

She blinks-she’d suspected this was only a spontaneous appearance from Kami, not anything more. “I thought this was just a regular visit.”

“It is, mostly,” says her mother, running a finger around the rim of her glass. “I just have some news that your father and I wanted to share together.”

“You’re leaving.” Her body recognizes the sharp ache of disappointment before Maka realizes what she’s feeling. The grip around her fork suddenly turns painful, cutting into her fingers. “When?”

“Only for about a month, but I’ll be back in time for our trip,” Kami answers rapidly. Her hands still as an anxiousness Maka has never seen before curls on her face. “I’ve spoken with your father,” she says, glancing at Spirit and taking a deep breath before continuing, “And I’ve decided to move back to Orcus Hollow.”

“Moving back home?” Maka says slowly. It feels like something in reality has snapped; a heavy surrealness drops down, keeps her from saying anything else.

“I found a job, and although it’s still in Moricio, I want to be here,” replies Kami, eyes on Maka’s face. “The hotel has been getting expensive, and with the new job, it makes sense to find somewhere else to live.” She shifts in her seat, glancing at Spirit. “But most of all, I want something more permanent.”

It’s incredible how a single sentence is enough to paralyze her; everything is muffled and faraway, almost like she is drowning, and yet she is acutely aware of Kami and Spirit talking, of the way her eyes move between them, like she is following the conversation although it feels like someone else has taken charge of her body.

The sound of her name brings her back to herself, but not quickly enough; she turns her head toward her mother, where the nervous excitement on Kami’s face is being replaced by a growing concern.

For a moment, it looks like she wants to reach out; her hand flutters, as if she is about to, but she clasps them instead and says quickly, “If this is too fast, then I can wait. There are some apartments I was look-”

“No, it’s not that,” Maka interrupts Kami before she can say any more, leaning back in her chair. “I just needed to process it for a moment.”

“Which is understandable,” adds in Spirit. The sharp glance that Kami flashes at him comes and goes in an instant. “That’s why we wanted to talk about it with you.”

“You talked about it?” she asks, gaze moving to Spirit. His expression is a mix of the serious look he pulls out for work and something else that she can’t quite identify, although it resonates with her.

He gives a small dip of his head. “We did.” His eyes flicker to her mother. “We wanted to decide when was the best time to bring it up.”

“Then there’s not much to discuss,” replies Maka, straightening up. She forces the odd paralysis out of her body and the numbing indecision out of her thoughts. “If that’s what you want, then you should do it.”

Both Kami and Spirit wear the same expression of surprise on their faces. “Really?” says Kami. “You’re okay with it?”

“Yes, of course I am.” She nods vigorously, as if that would be enough to shake out the chaos of conflicting emotions out of her head. The weight of her father’s eyes on her is palpable, but she knows he won’t say anything for now.

“It’ll be easier for me to drop by,” Kami says. “For you to visit too.” The excitement that she had muted is already returning, but then she pauses. “I don’t want you to feel pressured to say yes, though, only if you’re really fine with it.”

“I am,” Maka repeats a little too loudly. Her hand closes around itself, searching for the comforting coolness that won’t come. “I am.”

* * *

Soul stares down at his palm, where the burning sensation continues to spread through his hand even though he is now fully awake. Alarm and relief flow in equal measure as the heat pulses like the ticking of a clock; no matter how much he runs, he can’t get far enough away to keep Maka safe, but at the same time, he revels in the fact that, after spending so long imagining the worst, he finally knows she escaped from the poltergeist.

“You’re alive,” he murmurs, tracing a pattern in the center of his palm.

“What is so interesting about your hand?” The sound of Medusa’s voice from right above him causes him to start.

Flinching away, he pushes himself to his feet. “Nothing.”

“Nothing isn’t how it appeared like to me.” She sits perched in the tree he had settled under, and follows his movements with a half-amused smirk. “It looked like you were reading a book.”

“It’s none of your business.” He crosses the clearing they’ve stopped at for the time being, rounding the fire burning in its center. Born from a shadow snake Medusa lit like a match with a snap of her fingers, the flames burn gold in the middle of the fire, while with the outer flames are pitch black, throwing rippling swaths of light and darkness across the ground.

“That changed when you made your deal with me, not that I wasn’t already well aware of you before we met.” Medusa drops down and draws forward, right to the edge of the fire. The smile on her face grows when Soul moves opposite of her; conflict seems to energize the witch, and she appears delighted by his disgust.

“Then pretend you’ve developed a sudden case of amnesia.” Ever since they left the forest of cocoons, there has been a change in how the witch looks at Soul, a tension that’s been pulled taut. She looks at him in that way now, like she is waiting for something, for _him_ to do something, and it sets his skin crawling.

The expression on her face sharpens, turning sly. “You’re still hoping for a connection with that girl you bonded with, aren’t you?”

Her words turns Soul’s insides icy. “How can you know about that?” he demands, moving so he can see Medusa’s face clearly. “How do you know Ma-”

“How do I know about Maka?” The smile on her face becomes a full-blown grin as he cuts himself off. Up close, the witch’s eyes switch from gold to onyx and back again; which color is her eyes’ true color and which is the one she altered with magic is a mystery. “I told you when we met that I had my sources.”

“Why are you interested in me at all?” The crackle of the fire swells into a roar as Soul jabs a finger in Medusa’s direction, and he wavers between backing away and staying put so he can watch the expression on her face as she answers.

“Have you ever wondered why there are no others like you here?” Medusa says, stepping forward. The fire is so close that the flames lick at her feet, but she doesn’t seem to notice or care. “You’re not connected to a living person anymore, so why haven’t you turned into a poltergeist?”

The questions throw him off-guard; he falters for a moment. “Abeyance is huge,” he answers finally. “There’s lots of places other souls can get lost in.”

“Abeyance?” She raises an eyebrow. “So that is what the living call this place.”

Soul says nothing, only watches as Medusa moves around the edge of the fire. The flames appear to follow her, blanketing her in darkness. “But while _Abeyance_ is quite large,” she says, “So many souls die every day that enough should become trapped here everyday to fill the appetites of a thousand witches.”

The fire rises higher and higher with every step she takes toward him, but he stays where he is. Whether it’s out of fear or some idiotic kind of courage, he doesn’t know, but it means the same thing.

“And yet, there are barely enough souls to sustain only the dozen or so witches left here,” Medusa continues, tilting her head to one side. “Why is that?”

“I’m nothing like you, so I wouldn’t know.”

“Because most souls waste away in a week or less, unless they are preserved by magic.” The light in Medusa’s eyes doesn’t dim as she pauses less than a foot away from Soul. “But here you are, two years later, body and mind still intact.” She eyes him with a cruel, thoughtful gaze. “Though there is something about you that did change when you died.”

“Nothing about me changed except my hair and eyes.” Vaguely, Soul is aware of the way his voice has inched up in pitch, but he ignores it, along with the anxious panic blazing a path into his chest and throat.

“Both you and I know that is a lie,” she breathes. “There is something horrifying in your soul, and you’re waiting for it to consume you.”

“I’m leaving.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the potion vial, flinging it into the fire. “I don’t care what happens to me.”

“Go.” Medusa shrugs. “Any creature or witch you run into is bound by magic to bring you back to me.”

Rage makes him forget Medusa outmatches him. “You-”

A quiet, familiar fluttering sound cuts Soul’s words off as a dark shroud descends from the sky and lands in between him and Medusa.

Although the creature keeps their face huddled in the crook of their shoulder, he recognizes the wings of black blood swirling around the creature. Their voice is a hysterical babble, hands searching wildly as if to grab hold of Medusa. “Don’t make me go back, I don’t want to go back.”

She brushes past the creature without sparing it a single glance. “As you can see, I modeled Crona after you, but there are things a regular human soul cannot be, even when crossed with a witch’s soul.”

His voice is stuck in the pit of his stomach; he can’t rip his gaze away from Crona, the measure he had used to comfort himself on his worst days, the monster he is supposed to be.

“In a way, you are right,” Medusa says. “You’re nothing like us.”

She doesn’t turn to see if Soul will stay or leave as she moves away. “You’re worse.”

* * *

“Your mom’s moving back home and you had nothing to say?” The towel Black Star had twisted around his hair drops with a plop next to Maka where she sits on the floor of his room, stained with the turquoise dye that’s now the color of his hair. He rises from his bed in an odd half-leap and rummages in the top drawer of his dresser, pulling out two hair ties. “I thought you used to be the captain of debate club.”

“That was for less than one month in freshman year, and ended when I almost made the other team’s captain swallow their front teeth.” Maka picks up the towel, balls it up, and hurls it at Black Star. It misses him by at least six inches. “And this is a little different than debating the ethics of the fossil fuel industry.”

“You have your right to process things how you want,” adds in Tsubaki, her voice slightly marred by static as she leans closer on the screen of Maka’s laptop. “It’s not easy to know what to say to news like that.”

“How you feel is a good place to start,” Black Star says as he loops his hair in two short pigtails, giving himself the appearance of wearing demon’s horns. He tosses a pointed glance at the two of them. “Neither of you say much of anything these days.”

“Our breakfast would have frozen over before I finished getting half of how I feel out.” A humorless smiles plays on her lips as Maka presses her back against the foot of Black Star’s bed, propping up the laptop on her knees so Tsubaki can see both Black Star and her as he settles back onto the bed.

However, Black Star doesn’t share her smile, for once; instead the look on his face mirrors the concern on Tsubaki’s.

She glances at Black Star and then to Tsubaki. “What?”

Tsubaki speaks first. “It just seems there’s been something other than your mom coming back that’s been eating away at you.” Her aura of maternal worry radiates out, even from miles away.

“Like something happened at the end of the school year and you’re pretending it didn’t,” Black Star tacks on. “Though you were acting weird before that.”

“Like when?” She works to keep from sounding too defensive.  “Because this is news to me.”

“When the truck broke down by the old town and you disappeared for a while was the first time I noticed anything strange,” says Tsubaki carefully, clearly trying to stay diplomatic. “And then when you returned, you said you were attacked by a dog, but there haven’t been any reports of any feral dogs in a long time.”

“And you still haven’t told me where you’ve been going at night.” Black Star doesn’t make any attempt to hide the stung resentment from his voice. “Despite using me as your cover story.”

“You’ve been going out alone at night?” Tsubaki’s brows knit together as she frowns. “To where?”

There isn’t anywhere Maka can look that doesn’t make the guilt that was lying dormant in her stomach squirm to life, wriggling underneath her skin. “Whatever is going on isn’t anything I can’t handle.” She plays with the keys of the laptop. “And it’s something I need to keep to myself.”

“Need is a strong word,” says Tsubaki, frown growing.

“There’s nothing that you should feel that you have to deal with on your own.” Black Star scoots forward, the outline of his face coming into view in at the edge of Maka’s peripheral vision. His finger prods Maka’s shoulder. “Why can’t you just say what it is?”

She flinches away. “It’s not something I want to do on my own, but I have to, okay?”

Her words come out as loud and sharp as the hurt and the anger she keeps buried in her chest. She speaks quickly in the silence that follows. “I know you want to know what’s going on and help, but this isn’t something I can share.”

It’s impossible to look at either Black Star or Tsubaki directly. “I’m sorry.”

Tsubaki opens her mouth, but Black Star speaks first. “So you just want us to sit here and do nothing?”

His tone sets Maka’s teeth on edge. “That’s _not_ what I’m saying,” she says after a moment of biting her tongue. “Being here is actually a lot on its own.”

“Well, that’s not how it feels like from this end.” Swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, he stands and crosses the room. “Keep your secrets, both of you,” he says irritably, tossing a glance at Tsubaki as well before yanking open the door. “I don’t care anymore.”

Gritting her teeth, Maka resists the urge to throw the laptop at his retreating back. “He can be such a stubborn idiot.”

“He doesn’t mean what he says,” Tsubaki says quietly as Black Star’s footsteps tramp down the hallway. There is a guilty edge to her words. “I can understand where he’s coming from, but I also know how you’re feeling. You’re both right in a way.”

The laugh Maka gives is bitter. “That makes me feel better and worse, at the same time.” She looks back at Tsubaki; the slight graininess of the video makes it difficult to get a clear view of her, but she can see the shadows on her face have returned. Licking her lips, she says, “You do know I do appreciate you being here, right?”

“Of course I do.” Tsubaki waves away her question. “And so does Black Star, but he has to be a hardhead about it first.”

“Though, like you said, he has a reason for it.” Sighing, she shifts, lifting the laptop as she crosses her legs, and places the laptop on the floor.

“Did I mention that I’m coming home early?”

“No, I thought you were coming back in August.” Blinking in surprise, Maka pulls the laptop closer, balancing it on the top of her legs. “When are you coming?”

“Sunday,” she answers. “It’s only a day earlier, but I want to be home for the summer already.”

There’s a hidden undercurrent to her voice that makes Maka look more closely at Tsubaki. “It’s been getting worse, hasn’t it?”

“Even when I have all the lights on, I still see the shadows,” she says. “It’s gotten so bad that I only leave the dorm to go to the lab.” She looks like she wants to say more, but instead she shakes her head vigorously. “I can’t think about it anymore than I already do.”

“I understand.” Maka swallows back her questions.

“Thank you.” The relief is evident on Tsubaki’s face. “I appreciate it.”

Quiet falls between them for a beat, and then Tsubaki asks, “Do you ever feel like there’s too much in your head, and even though nothing has happened, you can’t help being completely exhausted?”

Maka smiles faintly. “All the time.”


	6. Yuputka

**Noun; the phantom sensation of something crawling on one’s skin**

* * *

Pulling her blanket over her head, Maka rolls over on her stomach and silently screams into her pillow, fingers curling tightly around its edges. Sleep had been so close; after stifling her irritation from her disagreement with Black Star, she’d finally felt her thoughts begin to drift towards the dark of dreaming, and then Spirit had announced his return from the store by letting the front door close with a slam.

She lets herself grumble into the mattress for a few minutes, then kicks off the sheets, flinging them to one side. Her fingers scrabble on her nightstand for her phone; the light from the screen only makes her eyes burn for sleep more, but the time on the clock and the noise Spirit makes downstairs tells her there is little point in trying to find sleep again.

 _But there might not be a point to going out tonight,_ she thinks. There’s been no word from Stein since she called a week ago, even though he promised another update before their meeting. With a sigh, she presses her fingers against the corners of her eyes for a long moment and watches as phantom figures weave themselves on the ceiling before sitting up.

Reaching under her bed, she pulls out the map usually kept in her desk, studying the places she has explored, eyeing all the areas she hasn’t, and feeling the familiar frustration in her chest awaken. In every place she’s turned, dead ends have cropped up one after another; finding Soul in her sleep has become all but impossible, her midnight walks along the Rift have yielded nothing, and now she has to keep an eye out for other poltergeists infected with black blood.

She’s running herself ragged only to end up going nowhere.

Smoothing the map on the bed, she shoves her thoughts away. She still has whatever Stein has crafted for her, even if it is her only hope to get out of the rut she is stuck in. Briefly, her mind flits to the approaching trip with her mother and her eyes trail northward on the map, finding the series of zig-zagging lines that is Silver Canyon.

The canyon, which spans nearly twenty miles, is one of the weakest parts of the Rift in the country, something Marie had told her after a particularly long night of cleansing the aftermath of banished poltergeists. Since then, she hadn’t been able to shake the thought of finding a hole in the part of the Rift running through the canyon and crossing the Rift herself. As more time passed, the idea had planted itself more and more firmly in Maka’s mind, although, without a weapon, it was something she had given little serious consideration.

But now, the possibility of a weapon is so close that she can almost taste it, and what seemed like the bones of an impossible idea has taken on the flesh of a plan. Touching one of the points of Silver Canyon, she lets out a breath and clenches her fingers. If she survived venturing into Abeyance once, then she can do it again.

Rising from the bed, she walks over to her desk and fastens the straps of her bag before sweeping her hair into a ponytail. She lets herself stare into the room’s transparent darkness for another moment, then swings the bag on her shoulder, heading for the door. There is little use in solidifying ideas until she is certain that she has a weapon; she’ll make a final decision after she meets with Stein.

Spirit is sitting in the old armchair next to the couch when she peers into the living room, hair tied back as he concentrates on a report in his hand. The fabric of the chair is fraying in most places, but he still refuses to replace it, even though the chair now creaks ominously whenever he or Maka uses the footrest.

At the sound of Maka approaching, he looks up, the worried furrow between his brow disappearing as he spots her. “Heading out?”

“For a bit.” Her teeth worry at the tip of her tongue before she twists her words with a lie. “Black Star wants to hang out at the diner.”

His head tilts to one side. “I thought you already hung out today.”

“We had a video call with Tsubaki.” The hurt on Black Star’s face pops up into her vision as she busies herself with snagging a jacket from the closet next to the living room to avoid looking at Spirit. “But we also want to decide where to go once Tsubaki comes home tomorrow and that’s something we couldn’t decide in front of her.”

He closes the folder, pinches the bridge of his nose, like he does when he has run into a dead end, and shakes his head as he opens his eyes. “I thought she wasn’t coming back until sometime next month.”

“So did I,” says Maka, perching on the edge of the couch’s armrest as she shrugs on her jacket. “But she said her lab project finished early so she wants to start her vacation as soon as she can.” Nodding towards the report, she asks, “New case?”

“Old case,” he replies. “The murder cases here and in Moricio.”

Her heart plummets to the pit of her stomach and her smile fades. “I thought that you said you were done working on those cases.”

“Officially, yes.” Spirit taps on the front of the folder. “But there are too many cases like this that go cold,” he says. “And I don’t want these people’s deaths to go in that category.”

“But what could you find that two homicide investigation squads couldn’t?” She tries to soften her words when she sees a slightly stung look flash in Spirit’s eyes. “What I mean is that you shouldn’t take on the responsibility of solving seven murders.”

“Well, I was looking back at some witness reports, and I did find something interesting.” Spirit flips open the folder and rummages through the stack of papers inside. “There are a few people who said that they saw a strange person in black clothing in the area of the crime scene and then there is this picture.”

She looks down at the photograph in Spirit’s hands. The image is grainy, but it’s impossible not to recognize the outline of the creature from Abeyance.

“This is the best idea that we have of what the killer looks like, though most of the other detectives don’t think it’s much to go on,” Spirit says as Maka stares at the photo, a chill spreading through her veins. There was no way her father or anyone else should be able to see the creature, much less for a camera to be able to take a photograph of them.

Finding her voice, she says the first thing that comes to mind. “They don’t look like a killer.”

“You don’t have to look like a killer to be one,” Spirit answers mildly. “Though they’re just a suspect for the time being.”

“True.” Maka licks her lips, and tries to keep her tone casual. “So what are you going to do with the photo now?”

“I have a friend in Moricio’s forensic technology department that agreed to analyze the photo for anything else we can get from it,” he says, tucking the photograph back in its place in the folder. “After that, I’ll send it out to the other police departments in the region.”

“That’s a good idea.” Relief loosens some of the tension she’s trying to hide. “A tip line might help too.”

“Maybe.” Spirit’s voice sounds dubious. “There are some hideouts in the forest and the old town that they could be lying low at, so I might check some of those out.”

“No, you can’t do that!” The words burst out before she can check herself, making Spirit start. Maka jumps up to her feet, hooking a loose strand of hair behind her ear and wending her fingers together. “I mean,” she says hastily, “To search on your own seems dangerous at worst, tedious at best.”

Spirit scrutinizes Maka, eyes slowly narrowing the longer he looks at her. “I haven’t said anything, but you’ve been acting a little odd lately and I don’t think it can be blamed entirely on your mother’s return.” A concerned frown forms on his face. “You look exhausted too.”

It’s exactly what she knew would happen eventually, but all she has braced herself with is denial. “There’s nothing wrong, nothing specifically,” she says, sitting back down and forcing her voice back down to its normal pitch. “There’s just been a lot of change in the past two months.”

His frown grows. “What other change?”

“AP testing, choosing colleges to apply to in the winter.” She grasps at whatever comes to mind. “Thinking about the future.”

The look on Spirit’s face softens. “I understand stress, I’ve seen the all-nighters you’ve pulled before a big test,” he says. “But the way you’ve been acting is different than that.”

Maka swallows and resists glancing at her watch-creating a new lie to keep track of is too much to add to the knot of lies she’s already made.  “I may have been,” she says slowly, “Talking to someone at school.”

“Talking?” The transformation of Spirit’s expression would be comical under normal circumstances. He blinks rapidly as if he has just been smacked in the face. “Talking or _talking_?”

“The one without the innuendo.” Playing with the strap of her bag, she chooses her words carefully. “We were close throughout the school year, but towards the end of the year, we had a fight.” She ignores the pain tightening like a vice in her chest. “He stopped talking to me.”

A few moments pass before Spirit speaks. “Was this fight about him pressuring you into doing something you didn’t want to do, or anything like that?” When Maka shakes her head, he runs a hand through his hair in apparent relief. “Well, I’m glad to hear that, though I know that doesn’t make it hurt any less.”

Another beat of silence follows as Spirit opens and closes his mouth. “Did you _like_ him?” he asks finally.

“Yes.” Maka clenches her hands in surprise at how quickly she replies, but unlike other matters, there is no part of her that is hesitant or wants to change her answer. “I do.”

Spirit’s face goes through another series of expressions, settling on one mixed with caution and sympathy. “You know how I feel about you and relationships,” he says. “But I wish you would have told me.” His voice is filled with the reluctant acceptance of someone on the gallows.

“It wasn’t that I didn’t want to.” In this, she can be honest. “We were forced together on a group project, we didn’t agree with each other about a lot of things at first, but eventually we became friends.” She rubs her thumb across her palm, gaze trailing to her lap. Something in the anger and hurt in her chest has shifted; her voice hovers above a whisper. “I don’t even think I realized how I felt until now.”

“Oh, sweetie.” The compassion in Spirit’s voice brings the tears she’s been repressing for the past week to the brim of her eyes. “You are worth so much more than someone who doesn’t value you.”

“It’s not that,” she says quickly, voice rising. “We both care about each other.” Immediately, doubt crows out a laugh in her mind, but she remembers how Soul looked at her when he pulled her out of the poltergeist’s madness. “There was a misunderstanding, and it blew up.”

“I see.” An awkwardness now tinges her father’s words. “Is there a way that you could..” he trails off for a moment. “Get in contact with him again?”

“He won’t answer any of my messages and he left for the summer.” She swipes angrily at her eyes and rolls back her shoulders. “Maybe for good.”

“I’m sorry,” he says after a long moment. Shifting forward in the recliner, Spirit scratches the back of his neck. “I don’t think there’s anything I can say that’s truly comforting, other than maybe this,” he says.

Bringing his hands together, he pauses, and Maka leans in. “Everything in your life,” Spirit says, “Eventually you have to either hold onto it or let it go.”

Maka waits until it’s apparent Spirit has nothing to add on, and then she raises an eyebrow. “That’s it?”

He nods. “That’s it.”

“That isn’t-” she searches for something diplomatic, “A lot.”

“Well, the most complicated matters have the simplest solutions, and most people don’t even know they have those two options,” he says.

Conceding the point with a tilt of her head, she glances to the kitchen, where the pots from this morning are still soaking. There is so much to say about the news at breakfast, but she is barely wrapping her mind around it, and this is not the place or time. “How does it feel to have Mom back when you’d already let her go?”

Spirit’s gaze goes temporarily distant. “Neither your mother or I are the same person we were when she left, so the person I let go of is still gone,” he says softly. His eyes lose the haziness of memory as he looks at Maka. “But it just goes to show that life has a way of bringing back people and things you thought were lost for good, even if it’s in a way that’s different from before.”

Reaching out, he pats her knee. “Now it’s up to you to decide which this boy is.”

His expression abruptly becomes an exaggerated kind of stern, the green in his eyes turning steely. “I do want to meet this boy if things work out. I have a few things to say.”

“Sure, Papa.” She bites back a laugh at the irony, and rises to give him a hug. “I need to go, but thank you.”

“Anytime,” he says, looping the arm with the report around her. “Be careful.”

The edge of the folder presses against the back of Maka’s neck like a dull knifepoint as she gives Spirit a final squeeze. “You too.”

* * *

From behind Soul, the low susurration of Medusa’s voice wafts through the air, occasionally interspersed with Crona’s muffled whimpering. Other than a pair of pale eyes stretched wide, their face is a snarl of jagged fissures today, tears of black blood streaking down from the maze of crevices and staining their skin in an inky smear.

He steals a glance towards the stand of trees behind him. The tangled outline of Crona’s body resembles the contortionist he saw once at the circus with Wes when he was alive.

Stretching out his legs, he turns forward again and watches the tips of the flames of the fire ebb and recede in a constant dance, just barely grazing the soles of his feet. It would hurt if he plunged himself into the flames, he knows this, but what he doesn’t know is if Medusa would be able to douse the flames before they could do enough damage to his body.

His hands dig into the soft mud as he forces his thoughts away, too morbid even for a dead person.

_You’re worse._

Medusa’s words float through his head again, lingering on the surface of his mind’s eye, and his gaze goes back to the fire. But maybe it’s what he should do, he thinks. There was a vicious delight in the witch’s eyes when she told Soul he is worse than her or Crona; he doesn’t have any clues to what she has planned, but he does know it is more insidious than he could imagine.

He pushes the dirt caked on his fingers off with his thumbnail. And if it has anything to do with him, he’d rather be dead for good than take part in it.

“You look hungry.”

The mouth of the shadow snake wrapping its tail around Soul’s foot moves in time with Medusa’s voice. With a yelp, Soul jerks away, scrambling to his feet as the snake dissipates into smoke.

Whirling around, he spies Medusa watching him with an observant eye a short distance away, arms crossed and a half-smirk painted on her lips. Her voice is soft but sharp. “I can see it in your eyes.”

“You see nothing.” The urge to put as much space between him and Medusa as she approaches is almost overwhelming, but he refuses to be a coward in front of her again.

Her smile grows. “If you insist.”

Soul looks back towards the forest rather than rise to her baiting. There is no sign of the creature-Crona-in the woods or the fire. Glancing away, he asks, “Where is Crona?”

“Halfway across the Rift, most likely.” She gives a dismissive shrug, as if she had already forgotten about them.

A wave of disgust ripples through him. “Aren’t they your _child_?” he asks. Beyond them, the dark stain of the Rift stretches across the sky like a pair of jaws yawning open. “How could you make them cross a place like that?

“Am I supposed to let blood and maternal instinct affect my decisions?” Medusa says. “A weapon is a weapon and Crona was nearly exactly what I needed.”

“Oh, I-” Soul cuts off the retort forming on his lips, body tensing. “Nearly?” he repeats. “What do you mean?”

“What I mean is that then you came along.” Although Medusa is perfectly still, the tangle of shadow snakes coiling and writing across her skin makes it appear like her body is fragmenting and putting itself back together again.

He’s enveloped in a sensation reminiscent of being plunged in ice water. His feet draw him closer to the witch without him realizing it. “ _What_ ,” he says, voice going quiet, “do you mean?”

“Not yet.” She shakes a finger at him like he’s a child. “All in good time.”

“And if I decide that I don’t want to wait till then?” he challenges, hands balling into fists. “That I decide to move on into the afterlife permanently?”

Medusa’s smile widens into the grin of a predator. “If I really believed you’d do that, then you’d be strung up on one of my sister’s webs,” she says, running a finger down his face before he can flinch away. “But if you’re referring to whether my plan fails, then I’ll just wait for another soul like yours. It’s not like you’re the first.”

“I’ve waited over a millennia for another opportunity like this.” Her nail presses lightly into the skin just below Soul’s eye before she drops her hand and moves to step around him. “I have the patience.”

Watching as she disappears back into the forest, Soul waits until he can no longer hear Medusa’s footsteps to bury his face in his hands, letting out a breath through gritted teeth instead of screaming.

Lifting his head, he lets his arms drop and starts to make his way back to his place by the fire.

He will stay, for now.

* * *

The glare of Stein’s glasses is all Maka can make out of his face as the door to his lab creaks open and he peers through the gap. “You’re late.”

“You never called,” she retorts, squeezing through the door’s narrow opening as Stein steps back.

“Was I supposed to call again?” He adjusts his glasses, which are tilted lopsidedly on his face. “I must have forgot.”

She snorts, but her reply dies when she takes in the state of his laboratory. To say the lab is in a state of upheaval would be an understatement; chalkboards Maka has never seen before are positioned haphazardly throughout the room, covered in illegible writing and drawings that have been crossed out and drawn over again. Elsewhere in the lab, it appears that everything Stein had been storing in his cabinets has been strewn across every table in the room, spilling out onto the floor.

Eyeing, she carefully negotiates around the pile of metal parts halfway blocking the door. “You’ve been...busy.”

“Did you expect me to go on vacation after you asked me to make a weapon for you in two weeks?” he says as he falls back into a chair Maka didn’t see amid the chaos. Somehow, he manages to roll away in spite of the mess, weaving around the piles of equipment and materials. “Watch your step.”

“I didn’t know what to expect,” Maka replies. She follows him carefully, gaze falling on a series of beakers filled with liquids that let off an angry hissing as brightly colored vapors stream from them. “Though I guess this shouldn’t be much of a surprise.”

“It’s not enough to just make a weapon.” A tower of books and various tools Maka doesn’t recognize wobbles dangerously as Stein nearly crashes into it. He makes a sharp turn down a makeshift aisle, heading for the very back of the lab. “The soul of the ghost fortifies the weapon, makes it far more durable and lethal than any man-made weapon.”

“I see the challenge,” says Maka. She rounds the corner to the tiny nook that hooks behind the main space of Stein’s lab. “So what did you do-”

The rest of her question trips to a halt as her gaze falls on the scythe resting on Stein’s lab bench. Like her old scythe, a jagged stripe of black runs down the blade, but that’s where the similarities end.

“I guessed that you didn’t need the additional trouble of acclimating to a new weapon.” Stein picks up the scythe, hefting it in his hand. “Lightweight alloy; I mixed a little tungsten in the blade, though it’s not quite the same strength as your old weapon. But since you don’t have a bond distributing its weight anymore, I decided to prioritize agility and flexibility.”

“Will it still defeat poltergeists and other Rift creatures?” Maka asks. Her gaze trails up and down the scythe. Its handle is an inky black that runs up the blade in a jack-o-lantern smile, which is mirrored on the other half of the blade in a grey-green color.

“You’ll have no problems with Rift monsters, but with poltergeists and demons, that’s an entirely different matter,” answers Stein. Putting down the scythe, he dons a pair of gloves and picks up a cloth soaking in a bowl next to his equipment that has a sharp acrid smell to it.

She frowns in curiosity. “What are you doing?”

“Do you know what reaping truly is?” Stein asks as he squeezes the excess liquid from the cloth. “And why you need to be bonded to another soul to be a reaper.”

For a long moment, Maka thinks and then she gives a reluctant shake of her head.

“The soul in the weapon is what cleaves the soul from the poltergeist’s body and forces it to move on. Without the soul, you’re just hacking away at something that’s long dead.” In small, careful sweeps, Stein rubs the cloth across the blade, working his way from the point to the handle. “And even I cannot engineer a soul.”

Even with the last month’s events, the reminder of Soul’s absence still burns like a wound that refuses to close, but she ignores the feeling, pushing it to the side. “I don’t think anyone can.”

“In any event, the chemicals and poisons I’ve infused in the blade should be enough to paralyze a poltergeist for a while, though I’m not sure how effective they would be on a demon.” Setting the cloth back into the bowl, Stein strips off his gloves and moves to open a drawer in the bench, presenting a pair of black, leatherlike gloves to Maka. “You’ll have to come back periodically to re-inculcate the scythe with poison and you should always wear those gloves when handling the scythe.”

“Noted.” Maka takes the gloves and bites her lip before asking one of the two questions Stein’s talk brought to the forefront of her mind. “Would this work on a creature that has black blood?”

“Another question that is unanswerable for now.” Raising up the scythe, Stein holds it out to her. “Though I do have an interesting hypothesis to show you.”

Quickly putting on the gloves, Maka takes the scythe. Like Stein said, the scythe is light in her hands, and even without testing it out, she can feel the gentle whisper of death radiating from the blade.

“Pinch the handle twice,” Stein says.

She looks up at him, unsure that she heard Stein correctly. “Do what?”

“Pinch it,” he repeats as he puts on a pair of reflective goggles. “There’s another reason why you need to wear those gloves.”

Still eyeing Stein in confusion, Maka does as he says, squeezing the scythe twice.

A gasp escapes from her as a brilliant light emanates from the scythe’s blade; the light travels down the handle in two bright stripes opposite of each other. But although the light jabs at her eyes, it is cool and soothing in her hands, even through her gloves. Twisting her head away from the light, she holds the scythe away at an arm’s length. “How do I turn it off?”

She can’t make out Stein with the light blazing in front of her. “The same thing that you did to turn it on.”

Quickly, she squeezes the scythe another two times and the light extinguishes itself. Maka rubs her eyes with her knuckles, bright spots still staining her vision.

“Recognize where the light comes from?” Stein asks before she can yell at him for not warning her about the light.

She frowns, pursing her lips as she contemplates the scythe’s blade, before the recollection of the cube Stein showed her when she snuck in comes back to her. “The cube?”

“It was mostly made out of the same material as what I fashioned for your scythe, so it just took a few modifications to add it onto the blade and handle,” he says. “And there is this.”

He points to the cross of metal sticking out where the blade of the scythe meets the handle. “Push it.”

“It’s not going to issue some poisonous gas, is it?” she grumbles under her breath, moving up on tiptoes to push on the cross.

“Not quite,” he answers as the blade retracts into the handle. They both watch as the scythe folds into a small cube that easily fits into the palm of Maka’s hand as she picks it up. “Without a bond to cloak your weapon, I felt carrying around a six foot tall scythe would be rather conspicuous.”

“Agreed.” Maka shrugs off her bag to stow the scythe cube inside one of the inner pockets. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me until you know it works.” Stein meets her eyes as he hands her a pair of reflective glasses. “I do expect to hear back on how well the scythe works.”

“I’ll test it out tonight.” An excitement she hasn’t felt in a long time bubbles up in her chest and thrums through her veins.

“Include as many details as you can.”

“You’ll get a full lab report.”  Maka tucks the glasses away in a side pocket and looks back up at Stein. She hesitates in saying goodbye-Tsubaki’s return tomorrow brings back the memories of what she confided in her and Black Star at the mall. Drumming her fingers on the lab bench, she asks, “Do you remember when I told you about the friend who could see my old scythe?”

“Did you ask me not to?” he asks as he starts to straighten the equipment on the bench.

“She’s begun to see things,” Maka says. “Well, just one thing,” she corrects herself. “I think it might be a demon, but I’m not sure.”

Several beats of silence pass. “In the exorcisms I’ve attended, the soul of the person being possessed has often been so altered that they are able to see the demon haunting them and occasionally other nearby ghosts,” Stein says, finally. “After the demon was exorcised, they were no longer able to see the demon or anything else.”

“But why would a demon target her?” Maka asks, brushing a lock of hair out of her face. “The only link she has to the supernatural is me, and I haven’t seen in her in weeks.”

He gives a shrug. “We’ve never been able to find a commonality between the people demons choose to haunt,” he says. “Give me her name and I can open a case for a reaper to come and investigate.”

“No!”

Heat crawls into Maka’s face at her outburst and she looks away from Stein. “She’s coming back home, and I want a little time to do some digging of my own,” she says. “One week at most.”

She doesn’t need to glance up to know that Stein’s impassive gaze is drilling into her. “And what do you think you’ll find in a few days?”

“I don’t know,” she answers honestly. “But I have a few ideas.” There’s a tense pause, and she peeks up, not quite looking at Stein.

“Fine,” he says after what feels like an eternity. “One week. After that, you have to hand over the case to the DWMA.”

Relaxing, Maka lets out a sigh of relief. “Thank you.”

“But I still want to know what’s going on.” He pulls a tiny machine from his pocket. “Have this on you while you’re around your friend. It’ll record the energy and activity of anything supernatural around you.”

“Got it.” She takes the the monitor and slips it in her pocket; it resembles a cell phone, only smaller.

“Now you’d better get a move on if you really want to test out that scythe,” says Stein. He resumes organizing the equipment on the bench. “And remember, you have one week.”

She scowls as she starts to make her way to the door. “I’m not going to forget.”

“Happy hunting,” Stein calls from behind her.

As soon as she is out of the laboratory, Maka quickens her step, fighting the urge to look right and left for Marie and Azusa as she rapidly walks for the elevator. The tension between her and the two clairvoyants from refusing to form a bond with a new ghost has slowly dissipated, and she doesn’t need it to reignite by being found here on her night off.

The knifepoint her nerves are stretched over does not vanish when she gets to the elevator. She jabs violently at the elevator button, plunging forward as soon as she hears the soft chime of the doors opening.

It’s less the force of colliding into the person exiting the elevator, but the small grunt that they let out that startles her. Stumbling back, Maka screws her eyes shut, praying that she did not hear the voice she thinks she just did.

“Maka?”

 _Reality is unkind,_ she thinks, keeping her eyes closed for another moment before opening them to greet Azusa. “Hi.”

Papers float gently past Azusa’s body, but she doesn’t seem to take notice as she looks down at Maka, eyes widening. Her expression is one of genuine surprise, an emotion Maka has never seen on the clairvoyant’s face. “What are you doing here?”

“I went to visit Stein, but I’m heading home now.” She bends down to pick up the papers Azusa dropped, heart racing. Technically, she supposed to still be on “vacation”, and, given the psychic’s abilities, everything will fall apart with a poorly constructed lie, so she decides to run with the truth as long as she can. “I was coming to see when I would be back on the schedule, but I also wanted to ask Stein a few questions.”

“Questions?” Taking the papers from her, Azusa’s critical stare lights across her face. “About what?”

“My father.” Panic and abrupt inspiration makes her voice higher than normal, and she clears her throat. “Stein told me that our abilities are genetic,” she says, fighting to keep her tone even. “I was curious if he had ever seen anything like what I can do in my dad.”

“They did go to college together, didn’t they?” Azusa’s gaze doesn’t pull away from Maka’s face, but the analytical look in her eyes dims slightly. Stepping back into the elevator, she gestures to the space beside her and Maka has no choice but to walk in and stand next to her.

“That’s right.” Maka keeps her eyes rooted on the mission briefings papering the glass walls as the elevator begins to move. “And I know Stein had an interest in the supernatural even back then.”

“Spirit was assessed at the same time as you were when we first visited,” says Azusa. “It quickly became evident that he possessed no abilities whatsoever.”

“Yeah, I kinda figured.” The elevator seems to move at an agonizingly slow pace, and Maka resists the urge to shrink away from Azusa. “When he didn’t see the giant scythe I was towing around, I guessed that my abilities came from my mom, but I wanted to be sure.”

The slight noise of acknowledgement Azusa gives and the subsequent silence that follows makes the anxious knot gnawing at the pit of Maka’s stomach grow larger. In her bag, the weight of her scythe feels as heavy as a lead block. She presses her hands to her sides to refrain from fidgeting, and attempts to keep her thoughts from dwelling on the scythe, even though she is fairly certain that Azusa only gives the impression that she can read minds.

When the elevator finally opens to the portal floor, she hides her relief, turning to say her goodbye to Azusa, only to find that the clairvoyant is exiting the elevator well. The dismay in her voice is difficult to mask. “This is your stop too?”

“There’s a report of something strange near the Rift,” answers Azusa. She stops suddenly, nearly causing Maka to crash into her again. “Actually,” she says, the appraising look in her eye returning as she turns around, “it might help if you came along with me.”

“Go with you?”

Azusa’s eyebrows lift slightly. “Weren’t you the one who said you were eager to be back? Or would you like to quit again?”

“No, I’m not.” Her words are hard and sharp, but her heart plummets to her stomach, and for a few seconds, Maka’s mind scrambles to find an excuse. “But I don’t have a weapon anymore,” she finally manages. “Wouldn’t that be dangerous?”

“Any poltergeist we encounter would have to be banished.” The way Azusa’s voice tightens is almost imperceptible. “I was also under the impression that you have a certain disregard for danger.”

A vicious warmth floods her face. “Only when it’s necessary.”

“It could be soon.”

The grimness in her answer takes her aback. “What do you mean?”

Twisting back around, Azusa says, “You can see for yourself and tell me what you think.”

Swallowing, Maka stays where she is for a moment, and then follows after her reluctantly. The smart thing to do would be to make an excuse, but there’s nothing she can say to make her refusal not seem like a lie, nor can she deny that her curiosity hasn’t been piqued.

Her reflection stares at Maka from all sides as they walk through the hallway and pass the metal portal doors, warped and hazy. _It’s close to how she feels these days,_ she thinks as Azusa leads her past the door going back to Orcus Hollow, and she nearly opens her mouth to speak when the clairvoyant beats her first. “How are things going with Marie and Kilik?”

“There’s not much to do but stand around while Marie purifies the space.” A sudden surge of bitterness flooding up into her mouth threatens to rub her throat raw. “Kilik and the twins take care of the rest.”

Even without turning around, Azusa’s laser stare drills into her. “Without your presence, the leftover auras of the poltergeists are more likely to escape and wear down the Rift. Do you think so little of that just because you’re only standing around?”

The burn in her cheeks returns. “It’s not like I don’t know that.” It’s a struggle to keep her voice even when their last in-depth conversation resulted in her removal as a reaper; Azusa had had the final say in that. “It just doesn’t seem as much as I used to do.”

“But it’s what you can do.” Azusa stops in front of one of the last doors in the hallway; with her black clothing, her reflection in the door’s surface is an indistinct shadow. “Staying focused on what you can’t do will only wear you down.”

Maka blinks in surprise-Azusa’s words are an odd echo of what Spirit told her earlier. Clasping her hands behind her back, she grudgingly acknowledges the truth in Azusa’s reply. “I’ll try to remember that.”

“Good.” Pulling the door open, Azusa gestures to the darkness in front of them. “Shall we?”

This portal crossing seems to take less time than the others Maka has taken; whether it’s because the distance is less or that she walks faster with Azusa is behind her, she doesn’t know, but according to her watch, only fifteen minutes have passed as they exit the portal and emerge into small and musty-smelling cellar. Dirt and dust rain down on her as she straightens up, knocking her head against the ceiling.

“Mind your head,” says Azusa.

She gives the clairvoyant a scowl she can’t see. “I thought you were psychic.”

“Do you see everything just because you have eyes?” There’s a slight shuffling sound from behind Maka as Azusa moves around, though it’s too dark to see what she is doing. “I see what is relevant to my survival, visions of anything else are generally sporadic.”

Her mouth forms a slight scowl, but curiosity overtakes her. “How can you see the present and the future at the same time?”

“After a lifetime of visions, it becomes similar to white noise,” Azusa replies, letting out a small grunt as the ceiling suddenly flips open and moonlight floods in. The spidery branches of the trees surrounding the tiny cellar they’re in stretch out toward the sky, bleached skeleton-white by the moon. But it’s the screaming wind raging above her that seizes her attention, shaking the world so hard even the stars seem to rattle.

“What is this?” Maka has to yell to make herself heard as Azusa holds out a hand to help her up. Out of the shelter of the cellar, the wind buffets her relentlessly, ice-cold and razor-sharp, making it impossible to see anything but what is in front of her. Tears fly to the corners of her eyes as she reaches for the glasses Stein gave her, pushing them on her face.

Azusa’s voice is carried off by the wind, bouncing off of the trees in unearthly echoes. “Something strange.”

“I can see that.” Maka raises her voice as loud as she can, wiping her eyes as her vision finally adjusts. “But what is it?”

Either the wind dilutes her words too much or Azusa chooses not to answer; the clairvoyant swings the door to cellar portal closed with an astonishing ease, given how much the wind is howling, and strides off.

Maka scrambles after her, nearly knocked off her feet as she tries to keep pace with Azusa. The wind steals her breath, keeping her on the brink of suffocation as she gasps for air. It is difficult to see even with the glasses, especially with the wind pushing against her as if it were alive. Her knees buckle as she struggles forward in stops and starts; the wind not only feels like a living creature, but like a malignant being, intent on slamming her into the ground. Squeezing her hands into fists, she grits her teeth and continues to stagger onward-she has no idea how Azusa walks through the wind so easily, but the strength she built up from her months as a reaper hasn’t faded completely and she refuses to be left behind.

Her hair whips back and forth in time with the wind’s frenetic rhythm; there is something malicious in the wind’s unending scream, _something_ that gives Maka the sensation of phantom teeth scraping and biting at her skin. The feeling grows the longer she walks and, along with the cold sinking into her legs, makes moving her feet feel like moving blocks of lead. To keep herself from focusing on the numbness spreading through her calves, she moves her gaze around as she follows Azusa-it’s all but impossible to tell much about where they are, even with her glasses. All she can make out is that they appear to be in the outskirts of a forest, although there is something far greater than trees looming ahead of them.

Minutes that feel more like hours tick by before they reach the end of the forest, Azusa still a few steps ahead. The wind abruptly extinguishes itself in an angry howl as soon as they pass the last tree and Maka tips forward dangerously, the extra force she put into moving throwing her off-balance. Azusa reaches out a hand before she can fall on her face, steadying her.

“Watch yourself.” She glances at Maka and then lets go of her, shifting her gaze back in front of them.

She give a single nod, still out of breath in spite of the absence of the wind. The silence that follows after having her eardrums pummeled by its raging screams is smothering, but that is not what renders her speechless.

The entrance of Silver Canyon splits open in front of Maka, the jagged walls of the canyon shooting straight up into the sky like the fangs of a snarling beast. In the light of the moon, the quartz streaks that paint the canyon walls silver are turned into a glinting ivory. Parting her lips, she rips her gaze away from the canyon and to the cabin next to the entrance that acts as a ranger station-the lights are out and the makeshift parking lot in front of it is empty, even though they’re in the middle of tourist season.

“Why are we here?” She fights the shiver crawling down the back of her neck; the infectious song of the black blood pulsates weakly in her veins and calls her forward, inviting her into the canyon.

“There was a sighting of a poltergeist showing odd behavior earlier today,” says Azusa, stepping closer to the entrance. “Some ranger reports said that parts of the canyon caved in for no apparent reason, although you and I know why.” Part of her shadow unravels itself from her feet as she speaks, reshaping itself into a demon sniffer. “The canyon gets busy at this time of year, so the canyon was evacuated by a contact of ours and a reaper was dispatched to take care of the poltergeist.”

“Seems normal.” The volume of the song in her blood creeps higher. Her muscles tense with the urge to run, but she pushes her heels into the ground, and bites the tip of her tongue. If she gives away that she knows what is waiting for them, then it won’t take very long for Azusa to put together how she knows and even less time to figure out what she has been doing on her nights off.

“It was, until the reaper didn’t check in like he was supposed to.” Azusa inspects the wooden sign hanging across the mouth of the canyon, examining it as if she was about to interrogate it. “And then the signal on his DWMA communication device went silent.”

“So you think the poltergeist got the better of the reaper?” she asks.

“Maybe.” She stares into the canyon for another moment before glancing back at Maka. “But the reality is that reapers are killed by poltergeists, Rift creatures, and demons all the time. What isn’t normal is for their bodies to vanish.”

“And you want to find out what happened for yourself.” Maka looks down at the sniffer, which is now curled around Azusa’s feet. Its eyes glow like coals, even on a bright night like tonight. “Is that the reason you brought one of your sniffers?”

“Part of it.” Rubbing a finger down the side of her face, Azusa goes back to contemplating the canyon entrance. “It also helped anchor me while walking through the wind, which was the last thing the rangers reported before evacuating.”

“Which you think is part of the poltergeist’s doing.”

“Most likely, but we won’t get any real answers standing around,” Azusa replies. Something in her face tenses ever so slightly, but the steely calm in her eyes remains the same. “I know I asked you to come, but you can go back and wait at the portal, if you would like.”

“No.” Maka’s answer is automatic. Her courage runs too thickly for her to do anything but follow through with her word, even when it’d be wise not to. “If we’re nearly there, then I’m not going back.”

Azusa gives a sharp nod. “Very well.”

The grinding of loose dirt underneath their feet is the only noise that breaks the artificial silence as they enter the canyon. Maka’s nails cut half-moons into her palm; now that her panic has subsided somewhat, she can tell this poltergeist’s madness isn’t as strong as the first one’s, but she doesn’t know if or how that might change when they find it.

Shadows from the canyon walls throw them into darkness as they walk into Silver Canyon. An odd feeling comes over Maka as she and Azusa follow the main artery through the canyon, a heaviness pressing down on her perception. A prickly unease digs into her skin-it feels like the same presence from her walk in the forest outside her house two weeks ago, but unlike last time, she does not reach out with her perception.

Instead, she peeks over her shoulder, though all she can make out are the vague outlines of rocks and the canyon walls. She looks forward again, heart drumming in her chest, but she can’t keep herself from glancing behind herself every few minutes.

“Something wrong?” The sound of Azusa’s voice makes her jump in the air.

“No,” she says quickly. “I thought I heard something, but there’s nothing there.”

“Using your perception, I see.” Azusa’s words are approving. “Smart move.”

Maka clears her throat. “Right.”

“How close is the poltergeist?” Azusa asks after another minute of walking. The opaque figure of the sniffer detaches itself from her shadow. “It would be help to know if the poltergeist is moving toward or away from us.”

“Um, well-” A death rattle coming directly over their heads cuts off Maka’s answer. They both look up in time to see the dark outline of the poltergeist dropping down at them from the canyon wall.

“Move!” They break apart as another two poltergeists drop from the wall, letting out high-pitched screeches. Maka lets out a yell as one lunges forward, swiping its arm in arc, the tips of its nails grazing her cheek.

The poltergeists’ madness is a roar in Maka’s ears; the world becomes a blur as she struggles to stay above it, calling Azusa’s name. “Go!” she hears the clairvoyant shout. “I will find you later!”

Stumbling back, Maka fumbles for her bag as the poltergeist charges at her again, black blood streaking down its chin as it screams again, and catches a glimpse of bared teeth that look more like fangs. Her reaper instincts snap into place even as fear, sharp and acrid on her tongue, mixes in with the familiar rush of adrenaline and she narrowly avoids backpedaling into the canyon wall, hearing the dry hiss of another poltergeist above her.

The bag nearly slips from Maka’s hands as she dives away from the cliff and feints left to avoid running straight into the charging poltergeist, holding the bag tight to her chest as she sprints away from the poltergeist horde and into the heart of the canyon. Moonlight illuminates the dark as she rounds the bend and hurtles down one of the smaller veins splitting off from the main ravine in the canyon, the walls narrowing in on her sharply. She doesn’t need her perception to sense the two poltergeists chasing after her, nor does she need to look behind her to know that they’ll be on her in an instant if she slows down. A knifelike ache forms in her lungs as the trail sharply goes uphill; running in the canyon is worse than in the forest-there are no trees to run into or slow her down, but that only makes it easier for the poltergeists to follow, and gives her no time to put on her gloves and pull the scythe from her bag.

She gasps as the path ahead abruptly morphs into a dead end. Without stopping, she whips her head left and right, spotting a small opening to her right, barely large enough for her to squeeze through. The hand of one of the poltergeists brushes against her back as Maka dives into the gap, followed by enraged shrieks when the poltergeists find they cannot fit.

It’s a stroke of short-lived luck, however. Maka takes no more than ten steps when she crashes into rock, bright spots exploding into her vision. The bag falls from her hands as she stumbles forward, reaching out her arms as she tries to shake off the pain radiating down her body and feels nothing but the rough surface of the canyon wall.

“No.” Blinking once in disbelief and then again, she pushes against the wall, as if it will open up if she presses hard enough. For one panic-filled moment, she’s a child again, banging against a door that won’t open as smoke from the fire in the basement curls in her lungs and a demon with red eyes toys with her.

“Hey, kitten.”

A half-formed scream rips from Maka’s lips as something small and soft jumps onto her shoulder. She reacts on instinct, yanking the thing away from her and raising it high in the air to slam it into the wall.

“STOP,” screeches the cat in her hands, swatting at Maka’s fingers. “I’m trying to help you!”

Maka freezes, the cat’s voice finally registering in her brain. She stares up at Blair, all but completely speechless. “You?”

“Yes, me.” The alarm in Blair’s golden eyes disappears, and she squirms impatiently in her hands. “Can I help save your life now?”

Even the sounds of the poltergeists trying to squeeze their way into the cramped space doesn’t sink through her shock. “Wha-”

“There will be time for questions later,” says Blair, struggling harder. “If you let me go now, that is.”

Mouth snapping shut, Maka bites down on her questions and sets Blair on the ground. The cat stretches, shaking out her legs. “Now,” she says. “I can distract those things, but only for a few moments, so your scythe boy better come out from wherever he is.”

“I can handle this.” Distantly, the pang of memory makes itself known, but Maka snatches up her bag from the ground, pulling the gloves from her pocket. “Go.”

Blair’s expression is quizzical, but she gives a shake of her head. “If you say so.”

Grabbing the cube from its pocket, Maka swings her bag onto her shoulders and balances the cube in her palm, looks down at it expectantly. It does absolutely nothing; for a split second, panic threatens to take over, and then she remembers Stein’s words when he demonstrated how to use the scythe.

The cube disappears in a flash of light the instant she squeezes it twice, and the feeling of a small metal cube in her hand is replaced by the smoothness of the scythe’s handle. For an instant, she locks eyes with her reflection gleaming dully in the blade, then lets out a breath, moving to hold the scythe close to her body as she starts to follow Blair.

“You humans are so slow.” Maka jumps at the sound of Blair’s voice as she wedges her way into the narrow crevice. “I’ll never understand why you moved from using four legs to two.”

“Evolution, for one, and I’m also carrying a giant scythe,” she huffs in reply. Angling the scythe so the blade is facing the entrance, she hooks her hair behind her hair. Ahead the screams of the poltergeists have subsided into angry groans and keening, though the outlines of their shadows are clear as they pace back and forth in front of the mouth of the tunnel. “What’s your plan?”

Blair sounds almost offended. “A cat never has any plans.”

“I don’t th-” She darts away before Maka can get the rest of her sentence out, and Maka lets out a “Hey!” before snapping her mouth shut and charging forward to keep pace with Blair.

“Keep up!” She barely has time to register Blair’s words, only catching a glimpse of the cat launching herself at the poltergeist closest to the entrance and landing squarely on its face. It lets out a furious yell, spraying black blood as it attempts to claw Blair off, but she easily evades its clumsy swipes, jumping down onto its shoulder.

Instinct guides Maka as she runs forward to meet the poltergeist; vaguely, she registers madness pulling at the corners of her mind and the other poltergeist twisting around to charge at her as she brings down the scythe down in an arc, squeezing the handle tightly. The blade illuminates in a searing flash as the point hooks into the side of the poltergeist and Maka drives in the blade nearly to the hilt.

Blair gives a small yowl as the blade’s point burrows its way through the poltergeist’s body, just underneath its shoulder blade and only inches below where she balances on its shoulder. “Wait ‘till I’m off until you do that!”

“Maybe if you’d take care of the other one,” Maka says with a labored grunt as she yanks the scythe out of the poltergeist and spins around in time to kick the other poltergeist in the chest. It stumbles, but this poltergeist is less decayed and more lithe than the other one, and manages to dodge and lace its arms around the handle of her scythe.

She wobbles, nearly doubling over to keep her grip on the handle. The light from the scythe burns the rotting hands of the poltergeist, allowing her to regain her balance, but the poltergeist still scrabbles to reach Maka’s arm. Black blood streams down the decaying crevices etched in its hands, but the scythe’s light repels it.

Bile rises in her mouth as the poltergeist’s fingers reach hers and blood stains her gloves black; even through the gloves, death’s touch is putrid and freezing, nothing like Soul’s coolness. She tries to wrench the scythe away, but the poltergeist’s grip is strong and rigid.

The song of the poltergeist’s madness drums against Maka’s ears as it uses its hold on the scythe to pull itself forward. The scythe’s light seems to temper the madness, but that doesn’t stop the poltergeist’s rancid breath from bearing down on her as its face comes within inches of hers.

A blur of purple flies past Maka’s face as Blair launches herself onto the poltergeist’s face, claws out as she swipes at its eyes. “Why are you freezing?”

Maka blinks as the poltergeist lets out an outraged screech, tightening her grip on the scythe’s handle. Yanking hard on the scythe, she breaks the poltergeist’s hold on it and slams the back of the blade into its chest, hard enough to send the poltergeist tumbling to the ground. Deftly, she swings the scythe around and brings it down, silencing the poltergeist’s shrieks.

Her chest heaves as the sound of the madness fades into quiet, though her iron grip on the scythe doesn’t loosen. In front of Maka, Blair extracts herself from the mangled remains of the poltergeist, daintily shaking the dust from her body. The cat moves around the poltergeist and lightly leaps up onto Maka’s shoulder. “Well, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” she says.

The rush of bittersweet melancholy is unexpected; the aftermath of a reaping is too familiar, too close to Soul. “Not hard at all.”

A strong pull on her perception brings her out of the moment, her head snaps up as she focuses and then swears under her breath.

The weight on her shoulder shifts as Blair’s head tilts to one side. “What is it?”

“Azusa is coming,” she says, squeezing the handle.

“The clairvoyant?”

“How do you know so much about my life?” She stows away the scythe cube in her bag, stripping away the gloves and walking faster along the path. While she knows Azusa doesn’t have her perception, Maka doesn’t know what Azusa could have seen with her vision, or if her demon sniffers can detect the poltergeists. “Where have you been?”

“Around here, sometimes other places,” the cat says. Her tail twitches nervously as she speaks. “But I’ve been keeping an eye on you here and there.”

“It would have been helpful if you had made yourself known one of those times.” They round a bend; there is more light now that the moon is rising, but every shadow still seems to move, and the low moan of the wind running through the canyon sounds like a poltergeist preparing to attack.

Blair’s voice is evasive. “I had some things to attend to.”

“I’d like to hear about that,” she says as they emerge into the main gorge of the canyon. She pauses, checking herself for traces of black blood. There are scrapes on her legs from cramming herself into the tunnel, but nothing that can’t be explained away. She glances at Blair-she spent years thinking she was a normal cat, but she doesn’t know if Azusa or her sniffers will see through her ruse. “Though you should probably go for now.”

The cat’s tone becomes slightly miffed. “Why?”

“You used to help the enemy, for one,” Maka answers as she takes Blair off her shoulder and sets her down on nearby rock. Azusa’s presence tugs on her perception even harder-she can’t be more than a couple minutes away. “And there’s a lot of things Azusa can’t know about, including what happened back there.”

“You and scythe boy going rogue, I see.” A knowing gleam enters the cat’s eyes, and she stands, giving a sniff. “Tell him I think it’s rude he stayed in the scythe, but I say hello anyway.”

She bounds away before Maka can say anything, lithely jumping up onto the canyon wall and disappearing from view in a few swift movements.

The ache of remembering paralyzes Maka; she stares after the spot where Blair vanished for a moment before coming back to herself. Snapping back into action, she continues to put as much distance possible between herself and the poltergeists. Like Stein predicted, the poison in the scythe blade did its job: the beat of the poltergeists’ souls is muted but still present, a barely discernible blip on her perception field.

Her pace quickens-she can only hope that it’s enough to mask the poltergeists from Azusa and the sniffers.

It only takes another couple twists in the canyon path for her to spy the outline of the clairvoyant. Maka takes a deep breath to steel herself before rushing forward. “Azusa!”

“There you are!” The usual calm in Azusa’s voice is gone as she hurries to Maka. “I haven’t been able to see you in my vision since I banished the last of the horde.” Strange, blackened burns spot her hands, and there are several rips in her clothes and a weblike crack in the right lens of her glasses, but she doesn’t pay her wounds any attention. “What happened?”

“Two of them came after me, but I outran them.” She tries to sound a little more out of breath. “But the canyon is a maze and I got lost, I only found you with my perception.”

“Can you still sense them now?” Azusa gestures to her sniffer, which appears to have grown several sizes. “We need to find them before they can infect other poltergeists or creatures.”

Maka shakes her head a little too quickly. “So you know what it is?” she says. “What’s infecting them?”

“Black blood.” A humorless smile spreads across Azusa’s lips as she holds up her hands; now that Maka is closer, she can see where the blood has eaten away her skin. “My banishing reflexes weren’t fast enough, for once.”

“I’m sorry.” The words come out before she can stop them. She had known about the poltergeists being infected with black blood, but she was so preoccupied with finding Soul that she dismissed it as a fluke, an unfortunate crossing with the winged creature.

A frown of concern replaces the expression on Azusa’s face. “There’s nothing for you to be sorry about,” she says. “To get away from a horde like that with only injuries like these is practically nothing.” She pauses. “But there is something else that worries me.”

“And that is?” Maka says, even though a sinking feeling in her stomach tells her that she already knows.

It’s clear that Azusa is uncomfortable by the silence that comes before she answers. “A feeling of uncontrollable hysteria came over me while I was banishing the horde. It’s why I have these,” she says, nodding to her hands. “A poltergeist grabbed hold of me when the delirium hit. Luckily, my sniffer was nearby.”

She swallows, guilt crawling under her skin. “I felt something similar.”

Several moments pass before either of them speak. “What do you think it means?” asks Maka finally.

Azusa lets out a sigh. “I wish I knew.”

“I do know this, however,” she adds on, straightening her glasses. “Trouble is rising.”

Far above them, the gauzy veil of the Rift glints dully in the moonlight. Maka knows that the phantom rasping and the whispers of monsters calling to her from the Rift is only her imagination playing tricks on her, but that the places where the Rift looks almost threadbare is not.

“Yes,” she agrees in a quiet voice. “It is.”

* * *

It is well after midnight by the time Maka’s truck turns into her driveway and she stumbles from her seat like the drunk drivers she watched her father arrest when he used to take her on his night patrol. Her head feels like a sponge that’s been wrung out and left in the sun; she can barely feel the ground underneath her feet as she staggers toward the front door. The porch lights are still on, but Spirit is not there, or on the couch the in the living room.

 _It’s probably a good sign,_ she thinks semi-coherently as she trudges up the stairs, though she’ll still have to explain herself tomorrow. But even with everything she’s experienced in the past two hours, she is too tired to care about her father, or Blair, or the plague of infected poltergeists; a giggle trips out of her mouth as she hits her shin on the last step and nearly faceplants - possibly a result of her run-in with the poltergeists, though she suspects not. She doesn’t even consider the idea of taking a shower, lurching into her room without turning on the light and over to her bed, falling on top of the blankets.

Maka’s not sure when her eyes close, or if they were ever open at all, but when her eyes open again, Soul is standing in front of her.


	7. Flygja

**Noun; a ghost who accompanies a certain person.**

* * *

Shock blots out all of the thoughts buzzing in Soul’s head; his expression is mirrored on Maka’s face, her mouth almost comically parted in an O. She’s close enough that he can touch her, though he finds he can’t remember how to use his arms.

That doesn’t seem to be a problem for Maka; she moves forward without any hesitation at all, taking his hand. Her touch is cold, although there is a faint blush on her cheeks.

Her thumb traces his knuckles. “You’re here,” she says in a soft voice.

“Yes.” He’s vaguely perplexed by that; he was dozing by the fire a moment ago, and then he was in the dark with Maka, but he supposes it’s the consequence of hurling Medusa’s potion into the fire after going nearly a day without taking it. But with Maka’s hand wrapped around his, he can’t say he truly minds.

Maka’s gaze doesn’t quite meet his. “Why?”

His brow furrows in confusion. “Why am I here?”

“Why?” she repeats, grip tightening around his.

Soul frowns. “I don’t understand.”

“I don’t either!” Maka’s voice comes out in a half-shriek as she rips away her hand to poke him hard in the shoulder. She punctuates every word with a jab. “Why did you leave?”

Scrambling back, he lifts his hands and ducks his head behind them, attempting to shield himself. “That hurts, you know!”

“You’re a ghost, nothing hurts you!” Maka pushes against his shoulder one more time, but she backs away, stabbing the air towards him with her finger as she glares at Soul. “How are you doing it?”

Blinking, he nearly moves forward before thinking better of it. “Doing what?”

For a moment, Maka looks like she is going to attack him again, but instead she says, “Bringing me-us-to this place.” Her gaze moves up and down, then goes back to Soul, her eyes narrowing. “Where is this anyways?”

“The short answer is: I don’t know. The long answer is more complicated.” He takes it as a good sign when Maka only scowls, tilting her head to show she is waiting for the rest of his answer.

“I’m not sure what this place is, I can only reach it by sleeping and I don’t do that often.” He swallows, fingers curling at his sides. “I realized we were still connected when I fell asleep for the first time over here.” Memories of the months Maka shut him out rise to the surface of his mind, and for the first time, he realizes that maybe the reason she is so upset is because she’s moved on (that he’s become as extraneous as he felt when he was alive), that she doesn’t want to see him. “It was an accident.”

“Yes, I figured that.” Something dark and unreadable flashes in Maka’s eyes before her expression shutters closed; there is a charged undercurrent beneath her anger, soft and sharp at the same time.

A long silence passes after that; Soul can’t look at Maka in the eyes, but he can’t bring himself to pull his gaze away from her, going from staring at her hands, which are balled into fists, to her feet fidgeting restlessly against the ocean of darkness surrounding them. Leaving, which seems like the wisest option, isn’t something he can quite bring himself to do either.

“What are you doing?” Maka’s voice startles him so much that he looks up. Her words are abrupt and lined with a strangely anxious reluctance. “Over there,” she says, crossing her arms as she briefly meets his eyes before glancing away. “In Abeyance.”

Shame flares in him under the weight of her hurt-he hadn’t been thinking when he made his deal with Medusa, and every time something like regret inched its way to his thoughts, he did what he always did and buried it underneath the problems he could handle.

He takes a deep breath, on the verge of giving a non-answer, but his connection between Medusa and Crona stills the words on his lips. What the witch said about him picks away at Soul, hesitation rising as he opens his mouth, but the wavering feeling disappears the instant he meets Maka’s gaze.

“The creature with black blood is Crona. They’re the child of a witch,” he says, keeping his eyes on Maka. He deliberates over his words for a moment before he speaks again. “You shouldn’t be near the Rift or have anything to do with it, that’s what I can tell you.”

“What?” Maka’s face goes blank, and then she frowns. “What do you mean?”

“There’s more to the things that were happening before than you know…the Rift.” The mention of the past turns the space between them into a festering wound; he curses his tongue and his existence, but he forces himself to continue before the cut can rupture. “Crona didn’t cross the Rift on accident, they were sent, and I think something bigger is coming. I-”

 _You’re worse._ Medusa’s voice echoes in his ears, cuts off his next words, and his mouth snaps shut. In life, he hadn’t held onto anything too tightly, except for maybe Wes, but even then, there was always the underlying fear of being left behind because he could never be good enough, although he’d been  the one who left Wes behind in the end. He looks away from Maka and into the dark; taking Maka’s hand when they jumped from the tree in Abeyance was the first time he’s truly held onto anything, even if it’s ruined now.

“You what?” Maka’s face comes into view as she ducks into his vision. She’s closer to him than before. “What is it?”

“Nothing.” His fear has followed him into death-it’s why they are where they are right now. As long as she is safe, he would rather Maka hate him for what he did than what he _is_. Tension knots itself together in his stomach and chest in a writhing pile of nerves. “I don’t know what it is, but something worse is coming from this side.”

“What can be worse than a demon or a witch?” Maka leans forward as she speaks, raising an eyebrow. “How do you know all of this?”

It takes more effort than he is willing to admit to not lean in as well. “I can’t tell you that.”

Disappointment flickers across her face, and then it disappears as she pushes away. “So why are you telling me any of this then?”

“Because I don’t want you to get hurt.” He moves his gaze to the empty space beneath their feet. There’s so much more he wants to say, but everything else on the tip of his tongue disappears when Maka touches the back of his hand. The touch is brief, lighting on his skin like the sun breaking over the horizon, and then it’s gone.

“Why did you go?” Maka’s voice cracks, wavering just above a whisper. She is close enough that Soul can feel her breath on his cheek, and he knows if he looks up, her face will be only a couple inches from his. “Why did you leave?”

The urge to tell the truth surges up unexpectedly; it takes biting his tongue to keep everything from spilling out of his mouth. A numbing kind of paralysis takes over his body as Soul fights himself-it’s exhausting to hold so much inside his head, but even if he wasn’t doing it to protect Maka, there’s more fear in him than trust that Maka will still be there next to him after he shares everything he’s buried.

Her fingers graze against his again; his breath catches as he lifts his head to see the space between them has shrunk to almost nothing. Despite the quaver in Maka’s words, her gaze is determined. “You were the one who promised to stay, and I need to know why you didn’t.”

“Because you are more than everything.” The words fall from his lips without him thinking about it. “And you are worth more than a promise.”

Maka’s eyes widen, and then they squeeze shut, her head shaking vigorously. “That’s not an answer,” she says. “What happened?” Her fingers press against his. “Why can’t you come back?”

“Too much,” he answers. He presses back against her hand, against his better judgement. “And I couldn’t come back now, even if I wanted to.”

“A witch?” she guesses immediately. “But how did she reach you? Through Crona?”

He hedges before he answers, a slightly nauseous feeling rising. “Not exactly.”

“Who is the witch?” Maka refuses to be stymied. “Are you trapped?”

“N-I don’t know.” The tangle of nerves makes it hard to find his voice-getting this close to the truth is edging further down a slippery slope, but he can’t let Maka hope for an impossibilty and get broken by reality. “It’s hard to explain.”

“Then explain _something_.” A sharp warmth fills his hand as Maka squeezes it. Somehow, their fingers have become interlocked. “I thought we were a team.”

For a moment, Soul lets himself want to change his mind, ignoring all of the reasons he can’t as he holds onto Maka’s hand as tightly as she is holding onto him. There was never anything resembling a happy ending for them, but the idea of staying together had been enough, and he had held onto that for as long as he could until it was ripped away.

“I never wanted this,” he says, swallowing hard. “But I chose it.” He lets his grip go slack. “There’s nothing you can change because it was never you.”

“No.” Maka’s eyes narrow in a fierce gaze. “That’s not a choice you get to make on your own,” she says, poking his chest with her other hand. “Whatever it is, I told you I was here for everything too and I’m-”

Continuing to listen is dangerous-the warmth of her hand has turned into a fire, and the idea of letting it consume him is too tempting. “The only reason I’m here talking to you is because there are things over here that are trying to get over there, to you,” he says, tugging his hand out of her grasp and pulling away. Watching the change of expression on Maka’s face gives him the same feeling as the hunger does on his worst days. “I didn’t know about it before I crossed over, but I’d do anything to ke-”

“Except come back,” she interrupts quietly. Her voice is more breath than sound, close enough that he feels the words rather than hears them.

There’s a nauseating lurch in Soul’s stomach as he nods. “Except come back.”

“If I learn anything new, I’ll come find you,” he says in the silence that follows, shifting his eyes away from Maka’s face. Her hand is still curled, fingers spaced apart for his, and he bites his tongue for a second, a hollow ache pounding in his chest in lieu of his heart. “Crona was here, but they’re already crossing back.”

“Anything else you want to tell me before going back to your new life?” He isn’t looking at Maka’s face, only watching how her hands clench and hearing the return of the sharp edge in her voice.

He can’t help rising to her words. “It’s not a new life.”

A snort escapes from Maka. “You’re sure acting like it is.”

“The only life that I had was with you,” Soul snaps, looking up in time to see Maka’s eyes widen. “And it’s because I l-”

He breaks off as his brain catches up with his words.

“You what?” she says immediately.

A different kind of tension stretches in the space between them as he locks his lips together. “It’s nothing,” Soul says finally. He hasn’t been this grateful to be dead in a long time.

“You wouldn’t have said anything if it was nothing,” she counters. “What is it?”

His mouth closes; he had never meant to tell Maka about his feelings, even before the hunger had fully taken its hold on him, and he doesn’t know what made him start to say it now. Balling his hands into fists and sucking in a breath for courage, he starts again. “Maka-”

From the depths of the dark, a harsh scream drowns out the rest of his words. Around them, shadows more opaque than the darkness come alive, the same shadows that pulled Soul to Maka last time, winding around his arms and legs.

There is barely time for him to look up before the darkness rips him away-the last image he has of Maka is her reaching for his outstretched hand.

* * *

Soul gets a glimpse of the decaying poltergeist standing over him as his eyes fly open, feels himself sprawled out on the ground as he stares blankly up at the grey expanse of Abeyance’s sky, contrasting sharply against the snarling poltergeist’s outline. The darkness still has its hold on him, weighing down his legs and arms.

He isn’t able to register much else as the poltergeist lunges down, letting out the same scream that resonated in the dark, and he lifts his arm just in time to keep the poltergeist from clawing off his face.

The stinking scent of the poltergeist sinks into his mouth; he gags as he struggles to break free from the poltergeist’s grasp. Just beyond Soul, the crackle of the fire is close enough he can feel the waves of heat on his feet. If he could shove the poltergeist hard enough, it would stumble back into the fire, but this poltergeist is different than the ones on Earth. Its skin is splitting apart and tinged in a darkening grey in the same way as the others, but the scream scraping against Soul’s eardrums is more human than not, and the poltergeist’s grip as it shakes his arm is unyielding, Soul’s strength draining away the longer he fights to push the poltergeist off.

A choked groan escapes from Soul as the poltergeist manages to wrap a hand around his throat and squeeze tight, a burning sensation erupting in his head. For once, Medusa does not make one of her sudden, impossible appearances, and darkness begins to bleed at the corners of Soul’s vision. The dark turns his desperation into inspiration and he moves before he can think, managing suck in a breath as he lets go of the poltergeist’s arm and grabs its wrists.

Closing his eyes, Soul forces himself and the poltergeist back into the darkness he just came from.

* * *

“SOUL!”

Maka flies up in her bed, wrestling with her sheets for several moments until she is able to fling them off, and makes it halfway to the door before the realization hits her that she is in her room, not in the dark with Soul.

The rapid, shallow gulps of air she takes makes her chest heave; she nearly doubles over and the world tilts, hands becoming claws and bunching the hem of shirt into fistfuls as she struggles to keep her gasps from turning into sobs. Her nails dig into her palms through her shirt as she tries to force her thoughts to slow, but the only thing she can see is Soul, so close one moment, and then torn away by the darkness the next.

Wildly, she spins back around and dives back onto her bed, hauling the blankets back over herself.

 _Sleepsleepsleep_. She screws her eyes shut, relaxing her clenched jaw as she attempts to will herself back into sleep. The roar of her pounding heart is all she can hear, even when she tries to smother it by pulling her pillow over her head.

A banging on the door breaks the illusion she is halfway asleep that she’s talked herself into. “Maka?” Spirit knocks again as he calls her name. “I heard you yelling, what happened?”

Gritting her teeth, she tosses the pillow away from her face and swallows back the panicked frustration from her voice. “Nothing.”

The door rattles slightly. “It sounded like something to me.”

“I’m fine.” She rubs her face, ignoring the wetness in the corner of her eyes. “Give me a few minutes, I’ll be down for breakfast soon.”

There is a confused pause from Spirit’s side. “Breakfast was eight hours ago,” he says after another moment. “It’s nearly four now.”

“What?” She scrambles up, the muted afternoon light bleeding through her blinds finally registering in her mind, and reaches for her phone. In between a few texts from Tsubaki and her mother, there are approximately a dozen missed calls and nearly as many voicemails from Black Star, presumably to berate her for standing him up for their lunch meet-up at the diner.

“I checked on you a few times, but you were sleeping like the dead.” Spirit is still speaking as she wrenches open the door, automatically moving to one side. “How are you feeling?”

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” she demands, whirling back around in her room to seize clothes from her closet. “I was supposed to meet with Black Star before going with him to pick up Tsubaki and now the surprise we planned for her is ruined.” Her voice cracks on the last word, and she buries her face out of sight as she pulls a shirt off a hanger; there is too much, _too much_ in her head, and anything she can do about it is out of reach, leaving her here, pretending to care about the color of her shorts.

“I know you’re meeting Tsubaki and Black Star, but that’s later, and this is the first time you’ve treated summer break like summer break since it started,” he retorts, following her out into the hallway as she heads toward the bathroom. “You deserve the sleep, with how late you were last night.”

“No, I don’t.” She should be making excuses for last night right now, but there is a fog separating her head from the rest of her body, her hands are clammy and shaking. No matter how many times she runs her thumb across the palm of her right hand, the cold from Soul’s hand does not rise up.

“Maka.” A pressure on her shoulder makes her stop; she wheels around to face Spirit, though her words die when she makes eye contact with him.

Spirit says nothing either, hand still on her shoulder as he looks at her for another moment, and then his arm drops away. “I’ll make you something to eat while you get ready,” he says. “Don’t worry too much about being late, okay? I’m sure Tsubaki and Black Star will understand.”

Swallowing, Maka nods and swings back around for the bathroom, letting out a sigh instead of a scream. The clothes in her hands drop to the floor as soon as the door closes with a click, and she presses her forehead against the door, sucking in breath after breath, though it does nothing to diminish the suffocating feeling in her lungs. The ghost of Soul’s hand in hers echoes on her skin, and the image of the dark coiling around him and ripping him away strangles every other thought in her head.

There is something locked inside of her chest that keeps Maka from letting out a whimper, even as the tears pour down her face. Hugging herself, she turns so her back is against the door and slides down, pulling her knees to her chest as she tries to control her breathing. She doesn’t know if she’s still angry at Soul, whether she’ll yell at him or ask what he’d been on the verge of saying when she sees him again.

 _If she sees him again,_ her mind whispers.

The sound Maka makes isn’t quite human, but she doesn’t feel quite human, either.

 _Be okay,_ she mouths against her palms, squeezing her eyes shut. _Please be okay._

* * *

As soon as they enter the dark, the poltergeist’s grip on Soul snaps. He flails wildly for a moment, putting as much space as he can between the angry snarls of the poltergeist and himself. The poltergeist is still close enough that the tips of its fingers grazing past Soul’s hair as he continues to backpedal away. He’s not sure what direction he is moving in, except for away, though that’s enough for now.

He twists so he can move faster, which creates a ripple of movement that catches the attention of the poltergeist. On instinct, he holds his breath, slowing down his movements so it can’t sense where he is. Instead, Soul lets himself drop into the dark, eyes adjusting gradually to the murk.

When the noises of the poltergeist begin to fade, he exhales and pulls himself to a stop, filled with quiet dread as he hovers and listens hard. From what he can make out, the poltergeist is still thrashing somewhere above him, but what he doesn’t know is whether its vision will adapt to the dark as well. His teeth dig into his lip as he looks around and sees nothing but darkness; for a moment, he considers waking up, but he has no idea whether the poltergeist will return to Abeyance along with him if he forces himself awake.

There isn’t room for any other other option than to keep moving, he decides after another moment of deliberation. He moves forward in an awkward swan dive, slow enough to keep from attracting the poltergeist’s attention.

Soul progresses in stops and starts; it is clear that the poltergeist is still searching for him by the uneven way its enraged shrieks nearly dwindle out of earshot and then suddenly sharpen again. It reminds him of the last time he found Maka in the dark, though the song of madness is absent in this poltergeist. His head swivels back and forth, gaze roving over the vast expanse of the dark, the warmth of her hand still echoing in his palm. Looking for her is useless-he has the feeling that he would have already known if she was still here-but he continues to scan the dark for several more minutes.

When he finally gives up, there is more than a flicker of disappointment coiling in Soul’s chest in knowing Maka is gone; a chasm lies between what he wants and what he needs to do, and opening his mouth to tell her how he felt was akin to throwing himself over the precipice and into the abyss. He grits his teeth and pushes the memory out of his mind-the only thing that is clear to him at the moment is getting away from the poltergeist and learning what he can about where he fits in Medusa’s plan.

He comes to a stop when his arms and legs begin to ache, leaning back to stare up at the nothingness surrounding him. He hasn’t given the darkness much attention other than the first time he woke up to find himself in a black ocean-even then, its hindrance in seeing where he is going was the only thing that registered with him. But now there is nothing to do but listen to the dark.

Like the Rift, there is something alive and _breathing_ about this darkness. The whispers of a thousand monsters slowly smothering him, the feeling of dread as _something_ brushes past, is absent, however. In its stead, there is the low hum he felt when he was first brought here; it’s not as clear as when he was touching the mirror, but the pulse of a million souls is something he can feel in his fingertips, recognizes in his chest.

His eyes close, the sound of his breath echoes slightly in the dark. This darkness is similar to the one after he and Maka jumped together in Abeyance, and, if he stretches his memory enough, blocks out Giriko and his knives, he remembers the dark that came right after he died, bleeding over his consciousness in a gentle wave until the witch made him a puppet in a cocoon.

“They’re all the same,” he whispers to himself.

A quiet descends for several moments as the realization sinks in. He’s not sure what to make of the fact or whether it means anything at all, but it’s an answer instead of another question, and now he knows where he is going when he sleeps.

Before he can think more about it, however, a bright light prods at his eyes, an intense heat pooling on his skin. Soul flies up with a jolt, already scrambling back, but instead of seeing the rotting face of the poltergeist, a familiar glowing sphere bobs across his vision.

“You?” Soul rights himself and reaches out to cup the tiny ball of light, but it swerves away before his hand can close around it, hovering just over his head. Frowning, he lowers his hand, and the light drops down, dimming down to a soft flicker against the dark until it is close enough to brush against his nose.

The thrumming of souls on the light’s surface makes itself apparent in a perfect mirror of the dark, but deep below the surface, in the center of the sphere, an ancient and unusual stillness emanates forth. It is resonant, in spite of the complete silence; the strangest part is that neither the stillness nor the vibration of the souls drowns out the other, interweaving themselves in a steady balance.

It’s alien and familiar at the same time, a feeling that edges on memory, although he can’t quite place it. He presses his lips together as he lifts his hand again, a useless holdover from life. The light doesn’t move out of his reach this time, glowing slightly brighter as it bobs in place.

Icy fingers clamp over his wrist before just as his fingertips brush against the light. The rotting breath of the poltergeist hazes over Soul’s face for an instant. He sees its eyes clearly for the first time, the green of its irises contrast sharply in the dark, and in them, he can see something that is still human, despite everything else.

 _Fight,_ his mind screams as the poltergeist twists Soul around and wraps him in a bear hug. It lets out no groans or shrieks as it strangles him, but its silence is more violent, a mute desperation clawing at his ears as he kicks out and tries to break free.

His hands tug futilely at the arm around his neck, nails digging into skin that no longer bleeds or registers pain, and then out to the darkness, for help that won’t come. He struggles with all of the strength left in his arms and legs, even though he knows it’s a losing battle, feels the surrounding darkness seep into his body.

 _Unfair, unfair, unfair._ The word echoes in his head over and over again as his movements begin to slow. Anger was something he buried when he was alive, but smolders to life in his chest, a metallic taste on his tongue. Unfair his life was severed short, that his second life was ripped out of his hands just when he found out what it meant to live, that he can’t even hold onto the fragments he wants to protect.

He kicks out again, partly in self-preservation, but mostly in rage, and feels his foot connect with the poltergeist’s shin. Bone cracks like a gunshot and the poltergeist recoils; the distraction is enough to allow Soul to surge forward a few feet, though the grip of the poltergeist stays iron-tight. He continues to claw at the darkness, shoving himself ahead as much as he can-even if this is all he can do, at least he won’t die cowering and helpless a second time.

The drumming of the souls swells into a roar and the dark is taking over the rest of his body just as the ball of light appears from the depths and fits itself into Soul’s hand.

A warmth spreads through his palm and entire body as the sphere narrows and elongates, although the light blazes too brightly to tell what it is becoming. He doesn’t have to know what it is to lash back on instinct; there is no noise as the light reaches the poltergeist, no feeling of the light sinking into the poltergeist, nothing at all, only the feeling of relief as the poltergeist’s arm falls away from his neck.

With a gasp, he wrenches himself away, world flipping upside down as he somersaults once and rolls to one side, kicking frantically. The light is still in his hand, burning half of Soul’s vision with a brilliant white, too harsh to look at directly, although it’s enough to illuminate the space around him.

He’s alone.

In Soul’s head, the rhythm of the souls still drowns out everything else as he swivels around, scanning the darkness in anxious agitation. His grip on the light goes loose; there is the sensation of the darkness coming alive again, winding up his limbs to lift him back to Abeyance, but he ignores it, continuing to search for the poltergeist.

It’s not until that he is being pulled away that Soul’s gaze falls on the light, which has finally dimmed enough for him to see it for what it is.

A scythe.

* * *

Neon orange splatters violently across Maka’s vest, followed by bright purple as Black Star shoots her squarely in the chest a second time.

The lights in the arena come on with a loud click, and the trio that she, Black Star, and Tsubaki are competing against come out of their hiding places, giving them puzzled looks as they pull off their face masks before heading towards the neon-lit entrance of the paintball arena. Maka waits until they are out of view to wrench off her goggles and stride towards Black Star, who is dropping down from the perch he made on one of the metal bars criss-crossing the arena

“You’re not supposed to go after your teammates,” she says through gritted teeth when she reaches Black Star, poking him in the shoulder with her goggles. “How do you expect us to win when you keep on shooting me?”

He gives a half-hearted shrug as Tsubaki joins them. “I thought you were the other team.”

“We all had on goggles, and they had masks.” She barely keeps from exploding, vaguely aware of the hand Tsubaki puts on her arm to keep her from getting in Black Star’s face. “What’s confusing about that?”

Black Star doesn’t rise to her challenge, for once, his expression remaining unruffled. “I could say the same thing about checking the time,” he answers coolly as he walks away.

Maka’s hold on her temper, already fragile and strained past the end of her patience, teeters dangerously over the breaking point. Her goggles let out an ominous cracking sound as she clenches her hands. “You know wha-”

“I think there’s a better solution than whatever you are going to say,” says Tsubaki hastily, hand clamping down more tightly on her arm.

“Yes, and that solution is I’m going to murder him,” she says in a loud voice, though Black Star is nearly at the edge of the arena, and well out of earshot.

“That seems a little extreme.” Tsubaki lets go of Maka, but only to loop her arm with hers. “Have you considered talking instead?”

“I thought you were suggesting less extreme solutions than murder.”

“Very funny.” She gives Maka’s side a light poke as they head towards the doors of the paintball arena, pushing up her goggles to look Maka in the eyes. “But I mean it, a sincere conversation goes a long way with Black Star.”

Maka mostly bites back her snort, cutting her laugh short when she sees Tsubaki’s expression.

The timer resting on the metal arch above their heads fills the air with a mechanical buzzing, neon light bathing the world in a surreal glow as Maka pauses underneath the exit sign and turns to face Tsubaki. The light casts brightly colored shapes on them, turning Tsubaki’s face into a mask of red and orange. It reminds her of Abeyance, somehow, of Soul, although she can’t think about him, or the facade she’s thrown on for tonight will shatter underneath her fingers.

“I’ve already been as honest as I can.” She works to keep the impatience out of her voice, fiddling with the strap of her goggles. “I don’t know what else I can do.”

“I know that, and so does Black Star,” Tsubaki starts, reaching out to pat her hand. “But understanding only goes so far. There comes a point when not being able to be honest starts to hurt and begins to feel like mistrust.”

Denial rises on her tongue, but memory forces Maka to swallow her retort. There are more times than she can count when she saw something invisible cutting at Soul, when she tried to reach out and he shut down the conversation. Towards the end, a forced kind of helplessness had taken over, and she’d let it paralyze her instead of trying to help Soul, but maybe if she hadn’t, maybe if she had tried-

She shakes herself internally before she can follow that thought any further. There is no room in her head for any more ghosts than she already has. “Maybe you have a point,” she admits reluctantly.

“I nearly always do.”

A smile pulls at the corners of her mouth, in spite of everything, and she shifts so she can see Tsubaki more clearly. “I’ll talk with him after tonight.”

“You’d better,” says Tsubaki lightly as they turn towards the exit. “I don’t want to spend the beginning of break being the messenger between you two.”

“That only happened one time,” Maka counters as they enter the lobby of the arena. She hands her goggles and paintball gun to the yawning employee behind the counter, and begins to strip off her paint-splattered gear.

“And ended with a bloody nose and a black eye.” Tsubaki shakes out her hair as she pulls her goggles off; through three rounds of paintball, she’s the only one who managed to land headshots on the other team without getting hit herself.

“I only got the black eye because I insisted on making things even after almost breaking Black Star’s nose.”

Tsubaki snorts. “And he, being an idiot, decided to take you up on your offer.”

“Well, we were twelve,” says Maka, placing the last of the gear on the counter. “Critical thinking is not a strong suit at that age.”

“That remains true for many past that age as well.” Tsubaki glances down at Maka’s hands. “Aren’t you going to return the gloves too?”

“What?” Maka looks at the gloves Stein gave her-she had put them on before she’d put her bag in the locker. “These are mine,” she says quickly. She’s not sure if Tsubaki will notice anything strange about them, even though a pair of gloves is nothing like a scythe. “They’re new.”

“They have a metallic hue to them,” says Tsubaki curiously, continuing to squint down at them as they head to the storage lockers. “Like they’re glowing.”

“Custom-made,” Maka invents, pulling the locker key from her pocket. “My mom brought them from her time in France.”

The mention of her mother distracts Tsubaki completely. “Oh, that’s so sweet,” she says, brightening. “How do you think things are going with her?”

“Well, it’s better than before,” Maka answers after considering for a moment, taking out her bag as Tsubaki does the same. “I haven’t seen her as much since she’s busy arranging things to move over here, but she calls.”

“Sounds like progress.” Cold air bites at Maka’s face as they step outside into the center of Moricio’s entertainment mall. Previously a deserted lot of warehouses, the city transformed the lot into a plaza just over a year ago, though it’s only now that they’ve been able to go as a trio.

“Maybe.” Her footsteps fade into silence; the ground seems to pulse with the changing lights of the signs in the plaza, throwing the same haze over her brain as coming out of a dream. “I don’t think I believed her when she said she was coming back,” she admits quietly.

The sound of Tsubaki’s steps pauses as well. “That’s understandable, when you think about everything,” she says. “But what do you think now?”

“I think I believe her, but I don’t feel good about it,” she says, swallowing. “I feel terrified, like something worse is coming, even when I know it’s not.”

“Also understandable.” Maka feels a gentle pat on her back, and sucks in a breath to fight the stinging in her eyes. “Trusting change is harder than trusting fear.”

“That’s putting it lightly.” She gives her head a shake. “But it’s not something we should be discussing while celebrating you coming home.”

She rolls her eyes. “I’m returning from two semesters of college, but okay.” Gesturing to the buildings in front of them, Tsubaki asks, “Where do you think he went?”

“We’ve already been to the arcades,” Maka says, pointing to the pair of one-story warehouses opposite of the paintball arena. In this part of the plaza, the buildings form an oddly shaped oval, with the arena and the two arcades forming the points. “So it’s either the trampoline park and the laser tag center or the food court.”

They look at each other at the same time. “Laser tag.”

They’re mostly right: they don’t find Black Star in either of the laser tag mazes, but bouncing in one of the long trampoline connectors linking the trampoline park to the laser tag center. Lamps are mounted evenly spaced along the walls, but it is still too dim to tell his expression, though it’s evident that he sees them by the way he begins to bounce higher and more vigorously.

“There you are,” calls Tsubaki as they pause on the trampoline panel in front of him. “You could have at least texted us where you were going.”

“I left my phone in the storage locker.” Black Star takes a running leap at the wall and backflips in one fluid motion, landing back in the same place where he had been bouncing in place.

Exchanging a glance with Tsubaki, Maka decides to speak, taking a deep breath to clear away her impatience. “We’re supposed to be doing all of this together, you know.”

“Yeah, _I_ know.” Black Star is bouncing so high that the tallest spike of his hair brushes against the ceiling.

Gritting her teeth, Maka crosses her arms to keep herself from jumping forward to knock Black Star flat on his back. When she was five, she used to nag her parents about having a brother for company; less than a year later, Black Star had been adopted by the Barretts, their closest neighbors at the time. Her requests for a sibling had quickly dwindled sharply after that, and then for good once Tsubaki joined their group.

But years of friendship means knowing all of the ways to get under each other’s skin, which is exactly what Black Star is doing at the moment. Relaxing her hands out of the fists they’d balled in, Maka waits a moment to make sure her voice is completely calm before speaking.

“All right, then.” She turns away, tugging Tsubaki’s arm so she comes along with her. “We’re going to play laser tag.”

“We were?” A quizzical expression crosses Tsubaki’s face, and then it clears abruptly. “Right,” she corrects quickly, giving Black Star a slightly robotic wave. “See you later!”

“That was convincing,” mutters Maka under her breath as they walk away.

“You know I can’t sell a lie without being warned about it at least three hours in advance,” Tsubaki hisses back.

“You really can’t.” Maka’s reply is cut off by a sudden jolt from behind them.

Black Star sidesteps in front of them and jumps a little harder than he needs to as he bounds ahead, causing Tsubaki to nearly topple into Maka. “But you have a point, I guess,” he says ingraciously.

“You guess?” The incensed incredulity in Maka’s voice is tempered by a look from Tsubaki. She forces a smile on her face. “How understanding of you.”

“You’re both acting exactly when you were six and fighting over Legos.” Tsubaki rolls her eyes, pulling her arm away and quickening her step. Their shadows flicker like flames on the walls as they move toward the mouth of the tunnel. “You know he just needs to-”

A series of loud pops interrupts the rest of Tsubaki’s sentence as the lights in the tunnel go out. The darkness isn’t complete-there is still light filtering in from the trampoline park, but it’s enough to make Maka pause, though Black Star continues on like he hasn’t noticed anything.

“Ow!” A sudden grip around her wrist nearly causes Maka to topple sideways. She glances up to Tsubaki, who must have moved back when the lamps went out, but she can’t make out her face, even with the light coming in from ahead.

She frowns when she wriggles her wrist and Tsubaki’s grip doesn’t loosen. “Are you okay?”

“Who are you talking to?”

It takes Maka a moment to register that Tsubaki’s voice is too far away to be coming from the person standing next to her, and another for her to realize the shadows on the walls haven’t disappeared in the dark.

A rank smell worse than a decaying body floods Maka’s senses. There is no mistaking the aura of the demon this time; dread cuts through her veins, roots her feet to the floor as the shadows unpeel themselves from the walls and twist into the faceless figures that the demon planted in the forest all those weeks ago.

They form uneven rows between Maka and the exit, hands split into points-the only part of them that moves, fluttering like they’re caught in the wind. Their attention is not on Maka, however. The weight of their eyeless gaze lies ahead; she traces the shadows’ focus with her perception all the way to Tsubaki. Her face is mostly shrouded in darkness, but the sliver that is illuminated is frozen in fear as she looks up at the figure standing over her.

Instinct brings Maka back to life, and she rips her arm out of the shadow’s hold. She bounds forward and the shadows part from her path with no resistance; there isn’t any time to pull the scythe from her bag, though she fumbles for it anyways, but as the demon turns to face her, she stops suddenly, heart leaping in her throat.

The last time Maka saw Masamune, it had been right before he went to the hospital for the last time. Back then, Tsubaki had been his shadow, his mirror almost, to the point where her expressions would change nearly as soon as Masamune’s did. The only thing she hadn’t been able to copy was the immense exhaustion slowly swallowing up the light in his eyes.

Maka’s memory fragments under the reality in front of her; the red-eyed demon is only wearing the face of Masamune, she tells herself, but underneath the smothering aura of the demon, she can sense his soul, faint and shriveled. Death, or maybe something worse, has welded a permanent anger in it.

That rage reflects itself in Masamune’s gaze, the one part of him remotely human. Maka watches as the demon’s eyes travel up to hers-there is an unearthly pallidness to his skin, and the hollows underneath his eyes are even more sunken than when he was sick.

“I always thought there was something off about you.” The fragile softness of his voice is gone, replaced by a rasp that echoes long after he is finished speaking. “You looked at empty spaces sometimes like there was something waiting to devour you.”

“What are you?” It takes effort to dig for her voice, the words tumbling out in a rush.

Masamune’s laugh is cold; the shadow figures remain motionless even as they grow taller, swallowing up the tunnel little by little. “I think you know.”

Anxious trepidity spreads through Maka’s stomach in a mangled knot. She looks at the space between Masamune and the mouth of the tunnel, and then at Tsubaki, who seems stuck in a trance. “Why are you trying to kill your sister?”

“Kill? Not at all.” Masamune tilts his head to the side; the whites of his eyes turn the same pitch as his shadow figures. He leans forward, close enough that the stench of his aura is all Maka can sense with her perception. “Death will be a kindness when I am done.”

She tenses then; it’s impossible to defend herself or Tsubaki from a demon without a true reaping weapon, but going down without a fight is not an option.

“How are you still in here?”

The sound of Black Star’s voice at the entrance of the tunnel crashes against Maka’s eardrums; she jumps and so does Tsubaki, blinking rapidly. All of the lamps in the tunnel are shining just as brightly as they were before, like they had never gone out. From the mouth of the exit, the outline of Black Star waves wildly at them.

Maka looks back at Tsubaki, and scrambles to lunge forward as Tsubaki sags against the tunnel wall. There is a sheen of sweat on Tsubaki’s face, which has lost all color, and her hands are shaking as she suddenly grips Maka’s wrists.

“You saw him,” she says in a breathy, high-pitched whisper. “My brother.”

Excuses clog Maka’s throat, but staring into Tsubaki’s frantic eyes, she can only nod dumbly.

“He’s back,” Tsubaki breathes out, her hold on Maka’s hands going slack. “He came back for me.”

* * *

“Stop.”

Soul levels a half-hearted glare at Medusa’s back. They’re still in the forest, but the trees resemble oddly colored palm trees now, their leaves coalescing together in a vivid mix of reds, blues, and purples that makes him dizzy if he stares at them for too long. “What now?”

The witch gives him no answer, but her head is tilted up, as if she is listening to something. But everything is quiet; even the constant breeze flowing between the branches of the trees has fallen silent.

Since she found him on the ground after his encounter with the poltergeist, Medusa has turned strangely reticent, which Soul would have welcomed if he wasn’t trying to pry information out of her. He waits another moment, then inches forward, moving just close enough to see the side of her face.

Medusa’s eyes are closed, her lips parted slightly, expression twisted in a dark exhilaration; the snakes covering her body squirm and writhe with an eager anticipation that makes the back of Soul’s neck itch.

Opening her eyes, the gold of Medusa’s irises turn black. “The Rift is rising,” she breathes out. “It’s time.”

“What?” Following her gaze, Soul looks up at the grey sky encompassing Abeyance and frowns. At first, he sees nothing, but after a minute of searching, he spies a tiny weblike crack resting in the middle of the sky. It’s white, nearly blending in with the grey, so it’s impossible to tell how far it has spread, but Medusa’s euphoria makes dread coil in Soul’s stomach.

“The beginning of everything.” The look on Medusa’s face changes from exhilarated to calculating. “But you’ll have to wait until the end to see it all.”

His eyebrows rise. “A crack in the sky isn’t something you can hide.”

“Perhaps not, but that is only a piece of the plan,” she answers, voice turning into a sly purr. “Although since you are just another piece yourself, I could see why you’d think otherwise.”

An angry retort springs to Soul’s lips, but he swallows it down. “Then maybe you should explain yourself better.”

His words are too clumsy; a knowing glint enters Medusa’s gaze as she moves close to him. “I can see the fight you’re trying to win,” she says, running a finger down Soul’s face. He gets a glimpse of the souls caught in her mouth as she talks, and holds back a shudder. “How long has it been since you stopped drinking my potion to see her?”

A cold knifelike feeling sweeps through Soul’s gut. “I asked you for something to help me not sleep, it’s my decision if I take it or not,” he spits, jerking away from her, but the way he flinches ruins his reply’s effectiveness. “It has nothing to do with anyone.”

“You are clever, but in the end, you’re a weapon,” says Mesuda after a long pause, turning away with a half-shrug. “Do what you want, but the only one being used is _you._ ”

Something stronger than the hunger gnawing at his insides rushes through Soul. He doesn’t realize he’s moving until his hand wraps around Medusa’s throat, but even after reason catches up with him, he doesn’t pull back, grip tightening.

There’s only time to register a dark blur rushing forward, and then Soul is flying backwards until he slams into a tree, cracking his head against the trunk. A violent ringing sounds in his ears as he forces himself up and grinds his heels in the ground to steady himself, nails digging in his palms.

Medusa is still standing before him somehow, mouth curving into a delighted smile. The same feeling surges in him again and he lurches forward again, though he doesn’t take more than a step before he staggers back to the ground.

“Do you see what I mean?” Her voice is low, but it cuts against Soul’s skin like a blade. He lifts his head with effort; Medusa’s eyes are golden again, but they’re colder than when her eyes were black. “There is nothing you do without it being put into motion by someone else.”

Soul feels rather than sees the shadows crawling on his body, fixing him in place. They have no substance and sink into his head like the puppet strings of the witch that bound him in the cocoon, raking their claws across his mind and coaxing free every dark thought and memory he ever tried to bury.

“Our time is done for now, but keep that fear and rage near.” He’s drowning in himself, but he can still feel the brush of her fingers on his face. “You’ll need it.”

His eyes are wide open when Medusa vanishes; the shadows release him and Soul collapses on the ground, struggling to keep himself from puking out his insides. His mind is a cacophony of memory and thoughts he never wanted to touch again, nightmares from when he was alive and the hunger from recent months swirling together. An eternity passes before he can bring himself to even think of moving.

The small ivory crack in what Soul now knows is the Rift stares back at him as he rolls onto his back.

He is alone.

* * *

Tapping lightly on the bathroom door, Maka presses her ear against the door and listens hard. The retching noises from inside stopped a few minutes ago, but Tsubaki still hasn’t come out or made any kind of sound since then.

She knocks again. “Is everything all right?”

“Yes, I’m fine.” Tsubaki answers immediately, the same reply she gave when she staggered out of the tunnel and promptly threw up afterwards, but there is no sound of her moving or coming closer to the door. “Just give me a few minutes, okay?”

On the surface, her voice is calm, but the brittleness of her words betrays the anxiety hiding underneath.

A frown forms on Maka’s face. She rattles the handle slightly. “Are you sure?”

“Stop it, just go,” Tsubaki snaps.

Silence plunges in between them; Maka blinks, mind going blank. She’s witnessed the rare times when Tsubaki reached the end of her patience, but Tsubaki’s anger is fiery and unrestrained, not this short coldness.

She opens her mouth, but Tsubaki speaks first. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sound that-” She breaks off. “I just need a few minutes alone, I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize,” Maka says quickly, backing up. “I’ll be outside with Black Star, okay?”

There is no reply from Tsubaki, but she doesn’t push again, turning to head through the lobby of the trampoline park and outside where Black Star is waiting. She glances into the park through one of the lobby windows as she goes, spying the yellow caution sign barring the entrance of the tunnel they came out of. Her eyes flick up and around the dome of the open space connecting the trampoline tunnels-there’s no sign of Masamune or any of his shadow creatures, but she still examines the park for another moment before moving on.

The employee standing at the register mumbles a flat goodbye as Maka walks through the exits gates to the park, looking entirely uninterested when she pauses to throw a final look behind herself. Her tongue runs nervously over her teeth-she has less trust in her perception senses, considering she never once recognized Masamune in the woods or in the times she saw Tsubaki until now.

“How is she?” Black Star bombards her as soon as Maka steps outside, jumping up from where he was perched on a bike rack outside of the park’s entrance. He cranes his head around to look behind Maka. “Where’s Tsubaki?”

“Still in the bathroom.” She shoves her hands in her pockets as she answers, partly because the temperature has plummeted another ten degrees, but mostly because she doesn’t feel like testing whether Black Star is able to see the strangeness of her gloves as well. “She said she’d come out soon.”

“Oh.” The concern on his face turns into an awkward blankness, and he steps back, hunching his shoulders as he tugs down on his beanie. “Okay.”

“Yeah.” She swallows, looking at a space above Black Star’s head instead of directly at him. “I don’t think she’s going to be in the hanging out mood after this.”

“I doubt anyone has been in that mood tonight,” he mutters, shifting away.

The last of her patience splinters apart. “Listen, I’m sorry I can’t tell you the truth.” Maka’s voice rises as she seizes Black Star by the arm and yanks him back. She ignores his strangled yell, releasing him to glare at him directly in the eyes. “But it’s not fair for you to treat me like this either.”

“I’m sorry I can’t tell you what you want to know,” she says. “I know it’s frustrating and I know you’re worried, but I’m doing my best and I would have thought being my friend meant more than not being told a secret.” She’s surprised by the sting of tears in her eyes-she had thought she’d cried all the tears she had for today.

Black Star’s mouth is gaping, though he quickly snaps it shut. “I am your friend,” he finally says in a mumble. “It just doesn’t feel like you are mine.”

“I can understand why you feel like that.” Guilt pricks at her from under her skin. “But I am, you and Tsubaki are the only people I would trust with this.”

He appears to digest this for a moment, gaze trailing to the ground before his head pops back up suddenly. “If I figure out what it is you’re not saying, would you tell me if I was right?” he asks.

Blinking, Maka processes his question, struggling for a second. “I suppose so,” she manages after another beat. “Though it might take you a while to get that one right.”

“That’s fine.” He bounces on the balls of his toes; the energetic punch in his voice is back-Black Star lets go of anger as soon as the fight is over. “I’ll find out one way or another.”

Maka presses her lips together to fight her smile. “If you say so.”

They fall into a comfortable silence for about a minute, although Black Star fidgets, glancing at the park entrance so much it looks like he is making a perpetual double take. After another several moments, the words he’s clearly holding back burst out. “Where is she?”

“Not a good idea.” Maka hastily raises a hand in front of him to stop him from going back inside, although she checks her perception field another time. There’s nothing but the adrenaline-fueled pulsing of the dozens of people inside. Tsubaki’s soul is beating more slowly than it was before, but there is a corrosive terror that surrounds it, keeping her from discerning anything else.

“Why?” he demands. “She shouldn’t be taking this long.”

“She threw up again in the bathroom so she’s probably cleaning herself up,” she says, guiding him away from the entrance.

Black Star is frowning. “What did she see in that tunnel?”

Maka hesitates for an instant. “She saw Masamune.”

A taut speechlessness takes over the space between them; Maka wavers between watching Black Star’s face out of the corner of her eye and looking elsewhere.

“Is that who she thinks is stalking her?” he asks just as the silence begins to stretch out for too long.

The nervousness tangling in Maka’s chest is the same as when she told Spirit and Kami she saw ghosts. “I don’t know.”

“Well, what did you see?” She glances back to find Black Star’s gaze focused on her face. His expression is the kind of serious she has only seen on him two or three times in her life.

She sticks to the edges of the truth. “The lights went out, so I didn’t see much else except Tsubaki, and then she collapsed.”

“The tunnel went dark?” Black Star interrupts. His eyebrows furrow when she nods. “But the lights never went out,” he says, frowning as he tilts his head. “I saw your shadows on the walls, you were right behind me.”

“But-” A bewildered feeling spreads through Maka as she searches for something to say. Until now, she thought the lights going out and turning back on was a trick of Masamune, not an illusion; even the demon from her childhood hadn’t been capable of altering people’s perceptions of reality to be different from one another. The only thing that’s apparent is that Masamune is either different from or far stronger than the other demon, or both.

Black Star’s gaze narrows as she continues to flounder. “Did _you_ see anything?”

For once, Maka has nothing to say, not even the slimmest excuse. Seconds tick by, and she feels the anxiety in her chest grow-the longer she goes without saying anything, the more she incriminates herself. Taking a deep breath, she opens her mouth.

A noise behind them makes them both jump.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” says Tsubaki apologetically as she comes into view, tightening her ponytail.

She comes to a stop next to Black Star. “Sorry for all the trouble,” she says, glancing from him to Maka. “I feel better now, though, so what’s next?”

“Next?” Black Star exchanges a look with Maka. “Don’t you want to go home?”

“Why would I?” The laugh Tsubaki gives is slightly too high. “I’m fine.”

“You said you saw Masamune just now.” An uncomfortable feeling crawls beneath Maka’s skin as Black Star looks to her for back-up. When she says nothing, his gaze goes back to Tsubaki. “Don’t you think this shadow stalker thing might be getting to you?”

“No, I don’t.” The smile on Tsubaki’s fades, and a sharp edge enters her voice. “I haven’t been sleeping well and the blackout didn’t help, that’s all.”

“But there wasn’t a blackout,” exclaims Black Star. He gestures to Maka. “She said there was one too, but the lights didn’t go out.”

“They didn’t?” Tsubaki’s eyes widen. “But-” She turns to face Maka, who knows she’s remembering the nod Maka gave when she asked whether she saw Masamune as well. The rest of her words hang in her mouth as she studies Maka, and then she twists back to Black Star.

“Looks like the only one seeing things is you,” she announces in a voice that is much too loud for how close they are to each other.

“What?” Black Star’s tone is half-stupefied and half-incredulous.

“You heard me,” Tsubaki replies breezily. Swiveling so she is facing neither him or Maka, she adds on, “It feels like the perfect weather for a smoothie, doesn’t it?”

She strides away before either of them can reply; Black Star trails a few steps after her before turning back to Maka, a completely baffled look on his face. “What the hell was that about?”

Maka, who can say nothing without unraveling Tsubaki’s story, simply shrugs, the guilty feeling burrowing itself deeper inside her chest.

The inside of the smoothie shop Tsubaki disappears into is packed and noisy, the line wrapping around into the small room. Maka takes one look around, and feels her head begin to pound. Being surrounded by so many souls in a small space is like slowly being smothered alive, nauseating and disorienting in a way that completely detaches her from her sense of self, and something she normally only manages to deal with by shutting down her perception field. Stealing a glance at Tsubaki, she rolls back her shoulders and tries her best to ignore the racket in her mind as she and Black Star join Tsubaki in line-tuning out the field is not something she can risk after the encounter with Masamune.

An uproar of laughter from a particularly obnoxious group rattles the inside of her head so hard that she nearly claps her hands over her ears. Her reaction doesn’t go unnoticed by Tsubaki or Black Star, but she beats them before they can say anything.

“I can’t even hear myself think in here,” she says, raising her voice over the din. The throbbing in her temples continues to grow, and she digs in her bag for her wallet, thrusting several dollars into Tsubaki’s hand. “Get me whatever you want, I’m going to find somewhere to sit out on the patio.”

The icy sting of the night air bites at Maka’s face as she steps outside; it washes away the suffocating haze from her mind, and she takes a deep breath and stays still for a moment while the chaos of the souls inside the shop fades to faint background noise.

Hoisting her bag more securely on her shoulder, she heads for the gated patio outside of the shop. Even though it’s summer, the cold breeze from the surrounding area pushes everyone indoors-the patio is empty and the quad connecting the different buildings of the plaza is near deserted.

Maka chooses to sit at the table in the far corner of the patio, tucked against the corner of the building with rows of decorative bushes behind it. Positioning herself so she can see Tsubaki and Black Star’s progress through the line, she takes out the scythe cube, careful not to squeeze it. Licking her lips, she stares at the cube with a heavy concentration and then she finally looks away, sighing. While there’d been no time to see the effect of the scythe on the poltergeist last night, she doubts this scythe will be enough to destroy the demon the way she and Soul had.

A tightness seals her throat. Breathing out slowly, she looks down at her hand and clenches it. She’s spent the last four hours being acutely aware that the temperature of her skin hasn’t changed once; there wasn’t the slightest pull of Soul’s presence even when she escaped to the bathroom earlier and managed to lull herself into a vague kind of semi-consciousness, the faint tendrils of the darkness briefly tugging at her.

Burying her face in her hands, she whispers, “Where are you?”

“Right here.”

Her head flies up in shock, hope blooming even though the voice is nothing close to Soul’s. She looks up to empty air, however, and glances about herself, seeing no one.

“Down here,” the voice says crossly.

Looking down at the seat next to her, Maka catches a flash of purple as Blair springs up onto the table. “What are you doing here?” she says once she can speak through her shock, snatching the cube off of the table.

“I promised I’d keep a better eye on you, didn’t I?” she says, swishing her tail.

She tucks away the cube back into her bag. “You didn’t, and considering your track record, I’d prefer you didn’t.”

The cat’s face puckers. “Blair never meant for scythe boy to die,” she answers nervously, “Blair hadn’t spoken to anyone since the witches disappeared; it was lonely.”

“And what about the human souls your witch ate?” Maka’s frown stays in place. “Would you ever go back to how you were before?”

“She had many familiars, our bond wasn’t the same as yours. I didn’t know humans felt the same things we did.” Blair pauses for a moment and has the grace to look somewhat ashamed before giving a decisive nod of her head. “I like humans better, they feed me fish and let me sleep inside when it’s cold.”

A faint smile pulls at the corner of Maka’s mouth in spite of herself. “So that’s where you disappear to in the winter.”

“Your father sneezed every time he saw me, I’m not _that_ cruel.” Blair’s tail brushes against the side of Maka’s face as she paces back and forth across the table. “Although now that you have scythe boy, I might stay outside your window sometimes and use him for company.”

It’s not the mention of Soul, but the memory of sitting out with him on the roof and the distance between what they were then and what they are now that makes the hole in Maka’s chest ache so sharply.

“He’s not here anymore.” She says the words quickly, rips them off like a scab. “So-he left.”

Blair freezes in the middle of her pacing, paw hovering in the air. “But that’s impossible,” she exclaims.

She stares at the deep, long shadows the bushes cast in front of them. “It’s more than possible.”

“But I can smell him.” She lifts her head high, sniffing the air. “He has to still be here.”

“We went into the Rift to repair a rip in it, and something happened, he lost control,” she says, pressing her fingertips against the cold metal of the table. “He went into the witches’ realm right before the hole closed. We see each other in my dreams sometimes, so I don’t think it destroyed our bond completely, even though that’s what he wants.” Her palms flatten on the table. In the past two months, she’s relived what happened in the Rift a thousand times until the memory etched itself into her bones, into her skin. But she’s never once spoken the truth about what happened aloud; it tears open the pain she buried inside her chest, the agony roaring to life like a snarling beast.

Blair is quiet for a long moment. “Is that what he told you?”

 _I never wanted this_ . His words echo in Maka’s head. _But I chose it._

Letting out a breath, she says, “Maybe not, but it’s what his actions said.” It’s the most honest answer she can give without losing control of her emotions.

_You are more than everything._

“I want to find him.” The confession is nearly inaudible, more to herself than to Blair-it feels dangerous to speak her feelings aloud, to make them concrete. She lifts her gaze to the sky; the lights from the city turn the night starless. “Even if we never see each other again after.

“I need to find a way across the Rift, and I haven’t even found a hole large and stable enough to start from.” Her words burst out with a force that surprises Maka, carries all the frustration entombed inside of her. “I’ve gotten nowhere.”

“I don’t know much about the Rift you speak of, but I do have magic,” the cat says finally. “I could take you across.”

A stunned speechlessness takes over Maka; her mouth works for a moment. “Really?” she manages to say after a minute.

“Blair’s magic isn’t as strong since the witches went away.” Her tail swishes as she moves directly in front of Maka, golden eyes practically glowing against the night. “But ripping something open should be easy enough.”

“In a few weeks, I’ll be in a place where the Rift is the thinnest,” says Maka rapidly. She doesn’t allow herself to hope, although she can’t stop the increasing fluttering of her heart. “We can try going across the Rift then.”

“Crossing?” Tsubaki’s voice comes from the right of Maka. “What’s the Rift?”

“And why are you talking to a cat?” adds Black Star, coming into the edge of Maka’s peripheral vision. He takes a seat on the stone bench bracketing the table.

“I was making some notes on my phone for the trip with my mom.” She mimics shoving her phone in her pocket before Tsubaki or Black Star can look down. “The cat is just a friendly stray,” she adds loudly, giving Blair, who is sniffing the drink in Black Star’s hand while Tsubaki scratches between her ears, a pointed glare when she doesn’t take the hint. The cat takes another moment to preen at the attention and head rubs before heeding Maka, leaping off the table in one bound and disappearing into the bushes.

Tsubaki watches her go with a rueful gaze. “I wanted a cat when I was little.”

“You had one, didn’t you?” asks Black Star, passing Maka her drink. “It was grey.”

“Oh.” Tsubaki’s expression falls. “That was a kitten I found on the way home from school, I only kept her for the day,” she says, playing with her smoothie’s straw. “My brother was sensitive to pet dander, so my parents insisted we take it to a pet shelter.”

She starts to say something else, but her head snaps back hard enough that she nearly tumbles backwards.

“Hey!” Black Star catches her, but just barely, dropping his drink to steady her. The lid pops off as the drink topples over, and hot coffee splatters all over the table and Tsubaki.

Steam rises from the rivulets of coffee running across the table, but Tsubaki says nothing as she jumps up, although bright red streaks mark her collarbone and neck.

Both Maka and Black Star scramble to their feet at the same time. “Are you all right?” asks Maka, eyes wide as she studies Tsubaki’s burns, while Black Star attempts to wring the coffee from her sleeve.

Tsubaki doesn’t answer this; her gaze is focused on something invisible, lips moving wordlessly. The air has grown thick, and the wind has stilled. In the space around them, the rancid aura of Masamune drops down, curling in thick sheets around Tsubaki.

“We need to leave.” Maka’s head twists as she glances up into the trees. It’s too dark to tell the trees’ outlines from any of Masamune’s shadow figures; the shadows on the patio appear real enough, but she can’t trust what she sees or hears anymore.

“What?” Black Star slows, eyes flitting from Tsubaki to Maka. “Why?”

“It would take too long to explain.” Grabbing Tsubaki’s hand, she turns to Black Star. The only place that might be safe from Masamune would be the DWMA, but the nearest portal is at least ten minutes away. “Would you just help me-”

Pain explodes in the back of Maka’s head, white spots dotting across the span of her vision. Staggering forward, she doubles over and gasps for air. There is a roaring in her blood that has nothing to do with the blow to her head.

“Why did you hit her?” Black Star’s voice is distant, reverberates in her ears. Planting her hands on her knees, she forces herself up.

Nothing registers at first, the white spots are still fading, and then she sees Black Star and Tsubaki standing a few feet away. The roaring sweeping through her body swells to a crescendo when her eyes on fall onto Tsubaki.

It’s never been possible for Maka to see auras unless she was looking into an aura mirror, but she can see Tsubaki’s aura plainly now. A sliver of faded yellow, mixed with the silver of moonlight, is all she can make out of her soul; the rest is strangled by a blazing white mixed with darkened crimson.

She blinks again, and both Masamune and Tsubaki are gone.

Her body reacts before she can think twice and the corner of the cube bites into her palm. There is only the faintest pull of Tsubaki’s soul on her perception now.

“What the hell?” Black Star scrambles forward, reaching out. “Tsubaki?” His hands swipe through the space where she stood. He whirls around, eyes wide. “She was right here, where did she go?”

“I don’t know.” Maka shoves the hand holding the cube behind her back, wheeling around until she is facing Masamune and Tsubaki, towards the quad. “But we have to find her, I’ll go this way.” She points in exactly the opposite direction of the demon. “You go that way and call me if you find her.”

She glances at him when he doesn’t answer. The panic on Black Star’s face has dimmed temporarily; in its place is an expression of near-revelation, like he is seeing something he never was able to make out. “How are you so calm?” he asks, taking a step closer to Maka.

“Because losing my head won’t help anyone.” She ducks away, struggling to hold onto the fading pulse of Tsubaki’s aura. “I’ll call you if I find her.”

She leaves no room for a reply, striding away before he can get a word out.

 _Hold on, hold on, hold on._ Maka’s heart thuds in time with her silent chant; memory gnaws at the marrow of her thoughts as she crosses the quad. Even though there is no one else in the quad, the darkened sky stares down at her with a malevolent gaze, and the buildings lining the quad seem to whisper to Maka indiscernible words that groan with the rot of things long dead. If she closes her eyes, she would be a child again, following an invisible, cold voice down to the basement.

The image of her ghosts, glimmering and fleeting, floats into her vision, and her eyes snap open again; that time in the basement was the first time she learned anything or anyone could leave, no matter how close, and the fear she felt then kindles back to life now. In the sky, the moon is only a sliver of a crescent, illuminating nothing, but Maka traces where the outlines of the buildings should be until it is safe to let her mind go. An exhale escapes from her lips as Tsubaki’s aura strengthens.

An alley between the two arcade buildings opens up in front of Maka suddenly; she almost tips forward as she grinds to a halt, teetering on the tips of her toes to keep from falling forward, and listens hard. The groans of any poltergeists are absent, but in its stead is a heavy tension that oozes from the walls of the alley and into her bones. There are lights running down the alleyway, so she can see all the way through, something that wouldn’t be concerning if it wasn’t for the shadows clogging the walls.

There are too many shadows, even with the dumpsters lining the sides of the buildings. They emulate the shadows of the dumpsters and boxes in the alley, but they’re stock-still-something animate pretending not to be. Maka’s hand snakes into her bag, and the gaze of a thousand eyes immediately crawl over her.

She freezes, but nothing moves-the shadows are waiting.

“Maka?” A figure appears at the end of the alley. “Is that you?”

“Tsubaki?” Breath catching in her throat, Maka jolts into the mouth of the alleyway and skids to a stop, wresting the cube out of the bag. The flash of light as it transforms illuminates the alley, outlining Tsubaki. She stands at the very edge of the back alley, hands pinned to her sides. If Maka squints, she can see how stiff she is standing, like a mannequin.

Unlike her, Tsubaki hasn’t moved at all.

She brings the scythe in front of her as she takes a wary step forward. “Tell me what happened.”

“I-I don’t know.” Although she still doesn’t move, Tsubaki’s words crack with barely suppressed panic. “He was there, Masamune, and then everything went black.”

Casting her perception as widely as she can, Maka relaxes slightly when she senses only Tsubaki’s soul in front of her, although the surrounding shadows reeks of the demon. She glances back to Tsubaki. “And do you still see him now?” she asks cautiously.

“No.” The volume of Tsubaki’s voice lowers abruptly. “I just woke up and then I found you.” She shifts for the first time. “What do you have in your hands?”

“I’ll explain later.” She strides forward, eager to leave. “Let’s go-”

“You saw my dead brother, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out your secret.” The sharp bluntness hits Maka like a slap to the face.

“But you’ve seen a lot more than that, haven’t you?” Tsubaki is close enough to see clearly. Her eyes are bulging, veins of bursting crimson standing out even from ten feet away, and her mouth is stretched wide, completely unmoving as she continues to speak. “Made such a mess that even the dead left you.”

She stops dead in her tracks, ice clamping around her heart. “Masamune.”

“Did you really think I was my pathetic sister?” Tsubaki’s body slumps forward, arms and legs bending like they’re on hinges. Her head snaps up with a crack, eyes finding Maka. “How could you mistake the soul of a demon for a feeble, meek like hers?”

“What did you do to Tsubaki?” she demands.

A cold laugh drips from her mouth. “My sister is so passive that she couldn’t even hold onto her soul. All I had to do was walk in.”

“Why are you doing this to your sister?” Maka’s grip around the scythe tightens, but she keeps the blade lowered. “She loved you.”

“And what good did that do?” Masamune’s voice sharpens into a screech, and Tsubaki’s body rushes forward. Her breath bears rakes across Maka’s face. “Made her so submissive that she turned into a puppet that wouldn’t choose anything unless I said I wanted to do it first.”

“She tried to make you happy,” she says. There is no good that can come out of arguing with a demon, but she can’t forget the fact that she knew Masamune as a person long enough to slam the scythe into him. “It’s not being passive, it’s what she wanted to do.”

“And after I died?” The whites of Tsubaki’s eyes leach away, turning a viscous clear, although the red threads of her veins remain. “She turned into what she did, not a person.” Her hands clench. “She was the one that should have died, if she wasn’t going to be anything more than a shadow.”

Surprise ripples through Maka at his reply; she tries to keep her voice gentle. “That’s not for you to decide.”

“Nothing in my life was ever for me to decide.” Rage blooms into his voice again, bleeding fresh. “A dying body, no friends because I could never go outside, and a family that treated me like a china vase.”

Tsubaki’s body sways back, head flopping down. Out of the corner of Maka’s eyes, the shadows come alive, falling mechanically from the walls. “It’s my turn to take.”

“What the hell?”

A voice from behind makes both Maka and Masamune look towards the mouth of the alley. From over twenty feet away, the blue of Black Star’s hair is still distinguishable. Dread slides like a knife into Maka’s stomach.

Black Star comes closer by several steps and then almost falls backwards as he stumbles back. His eyes are wide, ogling the scythe and then to Tsubaki’s body, which is bent in all the wrong ways, distinctly _unhuman_. “What is that thing?”

A hiss creeps out of Tsubaki’s mouth, but Maka acts before Masamune can do anything. The scythe hooks itself into her stomach as easily as butter, the point forcing itself free through her back. With a grunt, she forces the blade out and lets the scythe drop to the ground; the tears streaking down her face don’t register till she feels them drip from her chin.

“That’s not Tsubaki.” Black Star’s voice comes from next to her now. He stares down at Tsubaki’s body, which lies crumpled on the floor. There is a brokenness to her body, and the malice from her face is gone, but at the same time, Maka senses a wrongness, although she can’t tell what it is.

A hand grips her arm. “What happened?” demands Black Star. As hard as he is clutching Maka, his hand is shaking so badly that her own arm is shaking.

Maka’s gaze moves from Tsubaki’s face to the gash ripping open her stomach. “Do you believe in ghosts?”

Bafflement clouds Black Star’s face. “You’re asking me whether I believe in ghosts when you just stabbed our best friend?” There’s a pause, and then Maka’s arm is released as he throws his hands up in the air. “Or something that looks like our best friend?”

She doesn’t answer, eyes tracing over Tsubaki’s wound again.

There is no blood seeping out of the hole in her stomach.

Tsubaki’s eyes fly open just as Maka forces Black Star back. A vicious grin rips across her face as her hand wraps around Maka’s wrist, cold like ice. “It’s going to take more than that to kill me.”

A familiar darkness plunges over reality; Maka only gets a glimpse of Tsubaki floating in the murk before Masamune’s face sweeps into her vision. “Don’t you see how she’s letting herself fade?” He seizes her by the shoulders. “She deserves death.” Masamune’s nails dig into her skin for a moment, and then he shoves her backwards.

Frigid air blasts against Maka’s skin as the darkness lifts. She’s on her knees somehow; dimly she registers Black Star calling her name while she gasps for breath. A light-headedness threatens to send her into a different kind of darkness.

Her legs tremble under her as she forces herself up, vision swimming as her eyes find Tsubaki, still on the ground.

The gash nearly cleaving her middle in two is gone.

“First Tsubaki, and now you.” Black Star’s panicked rambling finally becomes clear. “I thought she was dead, but then she wasn’t,” he vaguely gestures to the ground, evidently unable to look at Tsubaki, “and _you_ were dead, but you weren’t, and _then_ you started floating-”

Maka clamps a hand over his mouth; the sea of thoughts in her head mixed with her worsening dizziness is a cacophony, crashing against the walls of her mind. “If I,” she starts after a moment, “if I said this had to do with the supernatural, and I knew somebody who could help Tsubaki, would you give me the chance to show you?”

Black Star’s eyes go the widest she’s ever seen them, but he nods slowly.

“Good.” Pulling her hand away, Maka carefully bends down to retrieve her bag, lying strewn out next to her scythe. She picks up both, and kneels next to Tsubaki, feeling Black Star follow suit.

Fishing in the bag, she takes out the reaper watch that she never returned to Marie and presses a button. Several seconds tick by before a familiar face fills the screen.

“Hey,” she says before Kid can speak. She takes a deep breath, fingers drumming against the watch, eyes flicking from Black Star to Tsubaki. There is color in her face now, but her breathing is labored, like something heavy is sitting on her chest.

She swallows hard. “I need a favor.”


	8. Ikigai

**Noun; reason for being.**

* * *

Between the muffled crunch of Soul’s footsteps, the soft hush of the shadow snake following him mixes in with the lonely howls of the wind scraping against the desert he’s found himself in. It hides in the shadows of one of the rocks or thorny plants strewn across the desert whenever he turns around, so he never sees it, but the fetid stench pressing against his face tells him the snake is close by.

He comes to a stop when he reaches an outcropping of five rocks, all evenly spaced apart in a circle save for one that juts out to form a point. It reeks of magic, but Soul’s eyes itch with too much exhaustion for him to care much. A dormant sense of self-preservation rouses against his apathy, however. His head starts to pound the longer he stays standing-forcing the poltergeist into the darkness and whatever he did to it when he stabbed it with the scythe has drained him completely. The uncontrollable trembling in his knees decides for him: he barely manages to hobble into the shade of the largest rock before his legs give out.

With a grunt, he struggles forward in a pathetic version of a dog paddle until he reaches the base of the rock, leaning heavily against it even as its jagged surface bites into his back. A violent hiss brings his attention to the edge of the rock’s shadow.

The snake has come out of the shadow it was hiding in, hovering just outside of the rock’s shadow. It slithers in one direction and then the other, although it does not cross into the rock’s shadow, evidently unable to, by the way its low hisses intensify. The snake’s rank aura doesn’t quite reach Soul either, and he glances up and around the rocks for a moment. Except for the spacing of the rocks and their presence, which seems to tighten the air around them, there’s nothing odd about the outcropping, at least not enough to force him back to his feet.

Looking back around, he studies the desert sands, the same color as the Rift above. After Medusa left, he had floundered, fighting to squash the violent feeling inside him-he can still feel it rattling inside his bones even now. His tongue runs over the points of his teeth-the feeling that’d risen was more than the provocation she’d thrown, more than the anger and fear welling up from the corners of himself, even more than the hunger ripping away at his soul. It was unnamable, until now-the quiet whisper of dread that would creep across his mind, even when he was alive, that everything was not quite right, all that he had buried when the hunger first arose and what it had torn open.

It was himself.

The thought feels more like an exhumed truth than a realization-a surging river of horror courses through his veins, but there is only the faintest surprise echoing in it. The dull ache of the rock digging into his back begins to sharpen, but he doesn’t move, watching the small crack in the Rift. Whatever he is becoming is more than he imagined when he threw away Medusa’s potion.

Soul moves his gaze back to the snake, still moving agitatedly against the border of the rock’s shadow. Over the distance he’s walked, he has tried talking to the snake several times, though nothing has come out of it.

“You used to be a person,” he says to the snake. “Anything left of you still in there?”

Like before, the snake ignores him, continuing to twist back and forth. There isn’t even the slightest presence of the soul it used to be, only the cloying aura of Medusa.

Leaning his head against the rock, he lets out a sigh and closes his eyes. “I didn’t think so.”

For once, sleep doesn’t rise up to try to claim him as soon as his eyelids slip shut. Instead, the weight of Maka tugs at the threads of his mind, while the memory of the encounter with the poltergeist replays in his head. He doesn’t understand where the scythe came from, or what the light was, but it doesn’t feel like a trick of Medusa’s. There was a relief that’d filtered through from the poltergeist to him just before the darkness took him back to Abeyance, the same release he felt during reapings with Maka.

But what had happened in the darkness was something he had done on his own. He has no clue how he managed it, or whether he’d be able to do it again, or if it even matters: the number of souls lost to Abeyance is uncountable, and he had only reaped one.

 _And yet, it was something good,_ his mind whispers. In the sliver of space between being pulled away from the dark and waking up in Abeyance, the hunger had disappeared completely for once and he’d felt whole.

Pressing his palms into the soft ground, Soul cups sand into his hands and opens his eyes as he spreads his fingers apart, watching the grains of sand trickle away. Up until now, he felt like one of those tiny grains, following a path that’d already been shaped for him.

Brushing the remaining sand from his hands, he examines the few grains clinging to the tips of his fingers. Now he feels like he’s standing on a giant precipice, but what he doesn’t know which choice is fatal: jumping or staying.

The exhaustion wrapping around him intensifies; his existence since he crossed over has turned him into nothing but a series of actions. He’s forgotten what it means just to be and for that to be enough-in life, it had only been in the stolen fragments with Wes as they avoided their lessons and recital practices.

Phantom warmth curls in Soul’s hand; in death, however, it’d been in every moment with Maka, even when it felt like the hunger was ripping him apart.

His eyes trail up to the Rift, tracing the outline of the white fissure in the grey. Medusa means for him to break it apart, it wasn’t hard for him to put that together, and the shadow snake was planted to keep track of him, although he’s not sure if it is possible for Medusa to see him through the snake’s eyes.

The rest of his thoughts are cut off by a stinging sensation on the top of his head. He glances up, sees nothing, and then looks around for what fell on him when the pain suddenly sharpens into a point, carrying with it a presence he knows as well as his own.

His hand drifts to his head, heat spreading from his palm to his fingertips.

Maka.

* * *

“Wow.” Patti stares through the truck window, the tip of her nose poking through the glass as she ogles Black Star sitting in the front seat while Kid carefully negotiates Maka’s truck away from the entertainment plaza. “I wish I could have dyed my hair that color before I died,” she says in a mournful tone. “The white Soul had was cool too.”

“Hey.” Next to her, Liz reaches out and gives her arm a tug. “Stop staring and read the mood.”

“But it’s a compliment,” protests Patti, although she allows her sister to pull her back down in her seat. “And he can’t see me anyways.”

“I’m not talking about him.” Liz gives an unsubtle nod to Maka sitting opposite them on the corner of the blanket that Kid laid out for the prone body of Tsubaki to rest on. In lieu of squirming underneath their gaze, she tightens her hand on Tsubaki’s shoulder, keeping her steady as Kid drives.

“Oh.” Sheepish realization dawns on Patti’s face. “Sorry, Maka.”

“It’s okay,” she says quickly, before the ghost can say anything else. “You don’t have to be afraid of mentioning him.”

They both nod, but the wary glances Liz and Patti exchange, along with the awkward silence that follows Maka’s reply, tells her that they’re either remembering the night after Soul left, or they heard about what happened when she was offered a new ghost to bond with in June.

“How have things been going?” Maka speaks mostly to keep the pity on their faces from spreading any further, not quite able to look at them directly. The lights of downtown Moricio bloom in the corners of her peripheral vision and her grip tightens around Tsubaki as they curve around a bend. She winces at how cold Tsubaki’s skin is and the way she breathes, rapid and shallow. Masamune’s aura hangs over her like a shroud; she seems more like a corpse than a person.

Liz gives a half-shrug. “Everything’s the same.”

“And it’s not, at the same time,” chimes in Patti, pulling her arm free of her sister to get closer to Maka. “There’s a lot more poltergeists, and they have the same black blood as that thing from the Rift.”

“Patti!” Liz’s head whips back and forth, looking for something, before she turns back around to hiss, “We’re not supposed to say anything about that unless we’re in the DWMA.”

“I’m sorry!” Clapping a hand over her mouth, Patti’s eyes go wide. “I forgot.”

“It’s my fault, not yours.” The truck brakes abruptly, and Maka braces so Tsubaki doesn’t roll off the blanket, although the sudden jolt doesn’t keep the sting out of her voice entirely. “I’m not a reaper anymore so I shouldn’t have even asked.”

“I don’t care about rules, I care about _that_ hearing us.” Liz tosses a rigid nod towards the floor of the truck bed, lips barely moving as she speaks as if Tsubaki will wake up if she speaks too loudly.

She frowns. “Tsubaki is unconscious.”

“Maybe, but the thing possessing her isn’t,” says Liz. The flashing neon colors of downtown Moricio leaches away her semi-translucency, turning her nearly invisible. She shrinks further into the corner of the truck she wedged herself in. “The dead listen best, and recently there’s been too many here who shouldn’t be.”

“But-” Liz cuts off the rest of Maka’s sentence with a firm shake of her head, pressing a finger to her lips.

Biting her lip, Maka leans back and says nothing else, the freezing metal bleeding through to her skin. The light from the moon is cold and casts more shadow than illumination; a prickle of unease runs its way down her back. Growing up seeing ghosts means fear has never been more than a dark corner away, but it’s been a long time since she’s felt the mixture of dread and doubt from not knowing what could be tracking her.

They lapse into complete silence, even Patti, who goes back to peeking through the window. Occasionally, Maka joins her, peering in the glass to where Black Star attempts to be giving Kid an entire interrogation, although she can’t make out how much Kid is telling him. Propping up her legs, she rests her free hand on top of her knee while she keeps a solid hold on Tsubaki. The pulse of her soul feels like a dying candle struggling not to go out.

Her grip stiffens. The scythe in her bag is useless, her abilities are useless except to monitor the fading beat of Tsubaki’s soul... everything that she can do is useless. Even the fragile plan forming in her mind is worthless, if she’s wrong about what she felt when Masamune pulled her into the dark.

 _Please._ Closing her eyes, she presses against the iron cold of the truck and stretches out as far as she can with her perception, although she knows it won’t reach Abeyance. There is nothing she can do for now, except let the numbing helplessness spreading through knot her stomach.

Liz and Patti rise when the truck comes to a stop, the engine turning off with a shudder. They’re not quite in front of the entrance to DWMA, but the front of the building is visible, even in the dark. Taking her hand from Tsubaki, Maka stands, shaking out the prickly throb from sitting in one place for so long. She looks up at the decrepit facade masking the entrance and shivers as a frigid breeze weaves through the empty street; memory hits her with the force of a punch to the gut. The only times she used this entrance was when she and Soul visited the DWMA for the first time, and the night after Soul left, when Azusa and Marie interrogated her underneath the aura mirrors while they examined her soul.

 _It wasn’t anything less than she expected_ , she tells herself as she stares up at the clouded windows, nails lightly running up and down her palms, particularly given what happened. Neither Marie or Azusa had raised their voice or accused her of anything during the interrogation, but the careful wariness they looked at her with, along with the unspoken accusation in their words, fractured the trust she had in the two.

Two simultaneous slams break the silence, and the sound of Black Star’s voice rouses Maka from her reverie. “What are we doing in a place like this?” he says, eyeing the building with open revulsion.

A hint of exasperation tingles Kid’s reply. “That’s strictly on a need-to-know basis.”

He scowls at the reaper, crossing his arms. “That’s what you’ve said to almost all of my questions.”

“Precisely,” Kid answers, tugging on the hem of his sleeve. He glances at Black Star with an expression that’s half annoyance and half something else Maka can’t identify. “You need to know _nothing_.”

Swelling, Black Star jabs a finger at Kid. “My best friend is in trouble and I-”

“If you want answers, I’m not the one you need to talk to for that,” says Kid calmly. His oddly colored eyes don’t seem to unsettle Black Star, unlike the first time Maka met him. Black Star continues to glower at Kid as he speaks. “ _I_ am only here to help a friend.”

Maka blinks. While she and Kid had gotten along when they shared patrols, she hasn’t spoken to him, Liz or Patti since she was forced out of being a reaper. Seeing the sisters reminded her too much of Soul, and eventually time had worn her avoidance into a habit.

“And I appreciate that,” she interrupts, just as Black Star opens his mouth. Moving carefully to keep from disturbing Tsubaki, she jumps down from the truck bed. She pushes her hair out of her face, closing the circle the three and the ghosts have made. “What do we do now?”

“We can take Tsubaki in,” says Liz. “Patti and I can mask her aura from the mirrors.”

“What about cameras?” asks Maka.

“Most of the beings that try to break into the DWMA aren’t the type to show up on camera so they’ve never been put up,” Kid answers. “But even with that, we won’t be able to mask yours or _his_ presence,” he adds, nodding to Black Star.

“So then what?”

“I’ll need to-” He pauses. “ _Fix_ a few things in the system to make sure you two won’t be detected.”

“Okay.” An embarrassed silence follows-there’s more Maka wants to say to the reaper and the ghosts, but instead all she says is, “I’ll wait with Black Star.”

“Hold on, where are you taking Tsubaki?” interrupts Black Star, moving in front of her body. “Why can’t we go with you now?”

“The ghosts with me can hide your friend from the DWMA’s detectors, but not you and Maka at the same time,” answers Kid, frowning when Black Star doesn’t move. “I assure you that your friend will be safer in the DWMA than slowly freezing away out here.”

“I wouldn’t have called Kid if I didn’t trust him,” Maka says quietly to him. The stubbornness on Black Star’s face wavers. “You know that.”

After another moment, Black Star moves to the side, though he still stares darkly at Kid. “If anything happens to Tsubaki, I will kill you.”

“Fair enough.” Kid turns to the sisters. “Do you need my help?”

Liz rolls her eyes. “We’re dead, not useless.”

“I’ve got her head,” says Patti eagerly, dashing forward to position herself at the top of Tsubaki.

“You always leave me with the harder part,” complains Liz as she drifts to settle next to Tsubaki’s side. “It’s hard to balance arms and legs.”

“You’re the oldest, not me.”

Kid pushes aside their bickering with a wave of his hand. “While you two move her to the lab, I’ll make sure our way is clear.”

Moving out of their way, Maka glances at Black Star, who is watching the exchange with wide eyes. His mouth opens and then immediately snaps shut as Tsubaki’s body rises into the air; he’s unable to see the sweeping motion Liz and Patti make in unison to lift her up. Her body hovers above the truck for a moment, and then the sisters slowly begin to move forward, Tsubaki drifting in sync with them.

“We’ll be back,” says Kid, starting to trail after the three. His gaze slides over to Black Star. “Is he going to be alright?”

“I think so.” She waves her hand in front of his face, causing him to start slightly, and nods. “It’s just the shock of seeing something supernatural.”

“Oh.” Kid’s expression goes blank temporarily, and then he gives a dip of his head. “I’d forgotten what that felt like.”

He leaves with another glance at Black Star.

Star and Maka watch as they disappear into the building; Maka turns to him after the door swings closed, bracing herself. The aftermath of Tsubaki’s possession and Kid’s arrival had kept them from talking, but there’s no way to avoid Black Star now. “I know you have questions.”

Blinking, he shakes his head slowly, raising a hand. His gaze is focused on something distant, brow furrowing. He moves like he is stuck in a fog, slowly taking a seat on the bumper of the truck.

“There are two of them, right?” he says. His gaze is now concentrated on the ground. “The ghosts you were talking to.”

“Liz and Patti,” she agrees, moving closer to the truck. “They’re close to our age.”

“Are they the only ghosts around here?” The expression on his face suddenly become unsure, and he casts a wary look at Maka, and then around himself. “Are there any listening to us now?”

It’s been so long since she learned to tune out the ghosts and supernatural fragments that replay their deaths on repeat, to turn the apparitions into nothing but white noise on her perception field, that it takes Maka a moment focus in on them. “You’ve passed at least two dozen ghosts since we left the park,” she says, swallowing back a flicker of amusement at the way Black Star’s face changes. She peers at the wailing ghost pacing in a tight circle at the corner of the street, the urge to smile fading. “And there are probably ten or so floating around this block.”

Black Star doesn’t answer, staring out into space. Biting her lip, Maka waits, but the silence from him stretches out for so long that a prickle of concern starts to bite at the back of her neck. She’s about to speak when he beats her to it.

“So you’ve been seeing ghosts all this time,” Black Star says finally, still not making eye contact with her.

A knot of dread winds in Maka’s stomach as she nods.

“All this time, there could have been a ghost breakdancing in my face,” he continues. He looks up at Maka. “And you would have said nothing.”

They stare at each other for a long moment.

The laughter that tears out of Maka’s mouth borders on frantic, bringing tears flying to the corners of her eyes. She laughs until her stomach hurts and she begins to wheeze, doubling over and gasping for breath.

Black Star’s voice is tinged with apprehension. “Are you okay?”

“Not really.” Maka lets out one last cough, straightening and wiping her eyes. “I can see ghosts and that’s all you’re concerned about?”

“It’s one of the major concerns at least,” he retorts.

“Well, I haven’t met a ghost with that kind of sense of humor yet.” She hiccups once, taking a seat next to Black Star. “So you’re safe.”

“Good.” His fingers drum against the bumper; from the corner of her eye, Maka sees him struggling to put words to whatever he’s thinking. “Are there more things out there than ghosts?”

Maka presses her hands against the bumper, thinking hard. She can relate to Kid’s words-it’s hard to gauge what level of detail will overwhelm someone who has never seen a ghost, or even believed in them, until tonight. However, Black Star’s soul is oddly steady for everything that’s happened in the last thirty minutes. “Poltergeists are ghosts that come back from death. They can move things,” she says cautiously.

His head tilts to one side. “That doesn’t seem so bad.”

She shakes her head. “Their souls decay over time, though. They stop being human before they rot away completely.”

“Rot away?” Unease pulls the corners of Black Star’s mouth into a frown. “What do you mean they stop being human?”

“I mean-” Maka pauses, trying to choose her words carefully. “Poltergeists want a living soul again. Once their soul begins to decay, they lose control over themselves and start attacking people.”

She flinches as Black Star leaps to his feet. “And you let two poltergeists carry away Tsubaki?”

“No, that’s different!” She jumps up to block his way. “Liz and Patti have a bond with Kid, that’s why they could move her.”

Black Star tries to move around Maka, but she sidesteps with him. “That won’t matter when their souls fall apart!”

“It’s a physical bond, they’re still ghosts, not poltergeists,” Maka says impatiently, still trying to keep Black Star from going around her. “Tsubaki is safe.”

The words fail to deter him. “And how do you know that?”

“Because I’m bonded to one!”

She’s louder than she means to be; her voice bounces up and down the street as Black Star lurches to a halt. “What?”

“You heard me.” The memories are still too sharp to touch for long. “I died when I got hit by that truck two years ago,” she says. “But I didn’t go to the afterlife, I went somewhere else.” Her heart thrums nervously in her throat-it’s hard to articulate things she’d thought she’d have to keep buried. “A ghost named Soul found me, and he helped bring me back.”

“Where is he?” Black Star’s gaze flicks around her head, as if he can see the ghost if he squints hard enough.

“He’s not here anymore.” The words are like hot irons on her tongue. “But we still share a bond.”

For a moment, Black Star is agog, and then he jabs a finger at her. “So that’s who I would catch you talking to!”

A slight smile spreads across her lips, in spite of the ache in her chest. “Yes.”

“Wait.” Black Star puts up a finger, beginning to pace back and forth. After a moment, he says, “You’re like him, that grim reaper dude?”

She raises an eyebrow. “You mean Kid?”

“Same thing.” He waves a hand, continuing to pace. “He said he worked for this ghost hunting place, the BWNA or-”

“The DWMA.”

“That’s how you know him,” he bursts out as she adds, “I work there too.”

Black Star freezes in mid-step. “ _You_ work there?”

“Isn’t that what you were thinking?” she asks, frowning.

His hands fling up in the air. “I thought they had taken you in, for training or something.”

“Well, I-” She stops. “Wait, how did you know the DWMA hunts ghosts?”

“The power of refusing to stop asking the same question over and over.”

“Naturally.” Her amusement fades. “I started working for the DWMA after last Halloween.”

“How?”

She shifts uncomfortably. “I think that story should be saved for when Tsubaki can hear it too.”

Mentioning Tsubaki sharpens the tension in the air; the ease in Black Star’s body disappears, and he throws an anxious look towards the DWMA. “Are you sure these people are going to be able to help her?”

“There’s never a guarantee in anything.” Her arms fold tightly across her chest, although it doesn’t quash the dread winding around her heart. “But they were the best place to turn to.”

A brief silence follows; she watches Black Star turn over this information in his head, gaze flicking up from the ground to the DWMA and then back again. He stands, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

“The thing that’s got Tsubaki isn’t a ghost or a poltergeist, isn’t it?” he asks. “It’s something worse.”

She only hesitates for a moment. “Yes.”

“Then what is it?”

The hollow melancholy of being alone in her secrets is almost preferable to having to be this painfully honest. “Things like demons exist, they come from people’s souls,” she says as her gaze moves to the DWMA building, pushing her hands together. “The one going after Tsubaki is her brother.”

Black Star almost topples over, barely righting himself in time. “Masamune?” He shakes his head hard, as if that will make him unhear her words. “That’s impossible, how could he become a demon?”

“What happens after you die has to do with the soul.” Her mind flickers back to the Rift, the sensation of slowly being consumed, and the sudden release. “Though there’s more to it than I understand, I think.”

Abruptly, Black Star deflates, shoulders sagging. “But why would Masamune attack his own sister?” he says. “I always thought he had the personality of a mouse.”

It’s too much to try and explain what Masamune told her in the tunnel. “There’s a world between how someone acts and what they think.”

The low whistle of the wind rings through the street as silence falls between them, a lonely eerie sound. It winds its way into the empty space in Maka’s chest and resonates there with a sharp ache.

Finally, Black Star speaks. “I feel like I understand everything and nothing of what you just told me.”

She can’t bite back her laugh. “Imagine living through it.”

“Well, everything is settled as much as it can be.” The sound of Kid’s voice makes the two jump in unison. His eyes appear even more catlike in the dark than usual as he approaches them, glowing amber. “Liz and Patti have her in the elevator and are holding it for us.”

Black Star bounces on the balls of his toes. “How is Tsubaki?”

“Fine, considering the circumstances.” The surety in Kid’s voice doesn’t falter, but Maka catches the way his gaze flicks away from Black Star for an instant. He turns on his heel. “But we should get moving.”

“And where are we going after we get in?” Maka asks as she and Black Star follow after Kid. She holds back on calling him out on his lie, feeling for Tsubaki’s soul through her perception instead, but the protective wards of the DWMA keep her from sensing anything or anyone in the building.

A shiver crawls up her skin just as Kid answers, and she gasps as a bitter death-chill washes over her, rooting her to the ground. The cold carries the same malevolence as the wind rending apart the forest outside Silver Canyon last night. Fear, acrid and corrosive, strangles Maka in a shroud, winding sharp and tight around her neck.

“Maka?”

The cold and fear disappear in one fell swoop. Maka blinks, the dim street lights are harsh against her eyes. She looks up to see Black Star and Kid staring at her. “Didn’t you feel that?” she asks, glancing at Kid.

When he shakes his head, her gaze trails up to the sky where the Rift would be, if the city lights hadn’t turned it invisible, and then to the DWMA. “Tsubaki.”

She rushes forward, pushing past Black Star and Kid. Their questions don’t register as she barrels through the illusion of the abandoned storefront, skidding to a halt in the middle of the DWMA’s lobby.

Her head whips around, but her perception is completely muffled here. Gulping down breaths, she avoids glancing up at the ceiling, at the mirrors, although the awareness that her aura is just above presses heavily down on her.

“Maka!” Kid’s voice is followed by a short yelp from Black Star as Kid drags him across the threshold. His eyes are wide. “What happened?”

“I felt something, I don’t know how to describe it.” She takes a step towards them, then casts another look around the room. “I think something happened to Tsubaki.”

Meanwhile, Black Star is still staring at the door. His expression is completely flabbergasted.  “We went through a steel door.”

Kid gives his hand a tug. “It’s not real.”

“I understand that.” Black Star pulls a face, jerking his hand from Kid’s. “ _How_?”

With an impatient click of her tongue, Maka moves away. Her eyes draw upwards involuntarily; even though she looks away quickly, she gets a glimpse of jade mangled with grey-green. Swallowing hard, she glances at the wall for the portal that Stein took her and Soul through the first time, seeing nothing. “Where’s the door?”

Kid breaks off his reply to Black Star, blinking like he’s remembering himself. “Here.” He takes out a device resembling a garage opener and presses a button. With a soft hiss, the checkered black and white tiles in the back of the room split apart into a circle of black.

The sight snaps Black Star out of his shock. “What is this?” he demands, shooting forward to stand at the very edge of the portal. “Is this where you took Tsubaki?”

“Yes,” Kid says as he strides forward and pushes Black Star in.

With a strangled screech, Black Star disappears into the portal.

Maka rushes to the portal. “What did you do?”

“It’s a short drop, he won’t hurt himself,” answers Kid matter-of-factly. “Mostly, I wanted some quiet.”

“Understandable.” She eyes the portal. “You’re sure the drop isn’t that big?”

“It was the only way to transport Tsubaki directly inside without being caught by anyone.”

When he draws closer, she holds up a hand. “If you say so.”

Taking a breath, she jumps into the dark. A swooping feeling sweeps through her stomach as she falls. Kid is right-she had barely closed her eyes when the light from the elevator pricked against her eyelids.

Maka gets a glimpse of the elevator floor, close enough that she can see the seams of the glass panels, and then she feels herself freeze, Patti’s face popping into view. “Gotcha!”

Momentarily, she stays suspended in the air, then Patti moves out of view and she drops onto the floor with a small grunt. Pushing herself up, she brushes the hair from her face, spying Black Star kneeling next to Tsubaki’s body. He’s hunched over her, head shaking.

Before she can say anything, Liz points upwards. “Kid’s coming.”

Maka’s back hits the elevator wall with a dull thud as she scrambles out of the way. Kid emerges from the hole in the ceiling of the elevator moments later, landing lightly on his feet. He flicks imaginary dust from his suit before he presses the same device that opened the portal, making it blink out of existence again. “There.”

“A little more warning would be app-” Maka’s reply breaks off as she glances down.

Painted across Tsubaki’s face and neck are ribbons of black. Two stripes form a point underneath her eyes, arcing down her neck and collarbone; they pulsate in time with her breaths like they have a life of their own.

Gripping her hand, a wave of horror sweeps through Maka’s mouth at the numbing chill emanating from Tsubaki. “What’s happening?”

Kid bends down next to them as the elevator begins to move. “The demon is taking over her body.”

The tip of black peeking out from Tsubaki’s sleeve seems to taunt Maka. “When did this happen?”

“As soon as we got her inside,” Patti says, drifting down. “She started shaking when we settled her into the elevator.”

“It took a lot to stabilize her, but the marks aren’t growing anymore,” adds Liz.

It’s silent for a beat; Black Star doesn’t seem to even register the conversation. His gaze is fixed on Tsubaki.

“How many of these have you seen?” asks Maka quietly.

There is a pause before Kid answers. “Many.”

“And what goes first?” she says. In the bowels of the DWMA, there is nothing her perception can tell her. “The body or the soul?”

“The body.” The soft chime of the elevator sounds. “But it doesn’t take long for the soul to follow.”

Nodding numbly, Maka lets go of Tsubaki and pulls Black Star up to his feet, who still gives no sign that he is listening. He rises slowly with no struggle, letting Maka guide him out of Liz and Patti’s way as they lift Tsubaki into the air again.

The elevator chimes as they exit into a near-pitch black hallway that Maka recognizes as the one leading to Stein’s lab. She turns in time to see the doors close, leaving only a blank expanse of wall. When she glances at Kid, he answers her unspoken question. “You can thank Patti and Liz for getting us as close as they did.”

It’s an awkward shuffle in the narrow hallway; even with Liz and Patti taking no space, Tsubaki’s body, hanging limply in the air, fills up most of the corridor. They aren’t able to move her as easily as they did outside of the DWMA, Tsubaki’s body moving in starts and stops as Maka, Black Star and Kid follow.

Kid navigates his way to the front of the group once they reach Stein’s lab at the end of the hallway, reaching over Tsubaki to knock on the door. Several beats pass before it creaks open and the glare of Stein’s glasses stares down at them. It’s hard to see much of his face, although what Maka can make out is unsurprised

The gap between the door and the doorframe widens. His gaze flicks from Tsubaki, then to Black Star, resting on his hair briefly, before looking to the rest. “Despite the many chemicals and lights here, this is not the place for a rave.”

“This is the friend that I told you about last night,” Maka says without preamble as Stein moves aside and Kid enters the lab. She fidgets as Black Star wedges himself behind Tsubaki as Liz and Patti tug her body into the lab. “We were in Moricio and she collapsed-”

The rest of her words run dry.

“I thought you weren’t able to find Stein last night.” Azusa stands behind one of the lab tables, hand tilted to one side and arms crossed. “Isn’t that what you told me?”

Beside her, Marie rushes over to Tsubaki, horror spreading across her face. She splays out her hands over Tsubaki’s body, mouth pressing into a thin line. “I don’t know how she’s still alive,” she says, motioning to the sisters. “Azusa, come see.”

For a moment, the psychic gives Maka another look and then she turns her attention to Tsubaki. The sisters take her body to hover over the table-Black Star comes back to life, helping Kid shove the tools and equipment off to make room. Liz and Patti lower her gently onto the surface, relief fanning across their faces as soon as Tsubaki’s body touches the table.

They all crowd around the table while the two ghosts float upwards. “That’s the longest I’ve ever carried a person,” Liz says. Next to her, Patti nods exhaustedly, leaning back as if to drift away.

Meanwhile, Black Star is pelting with Marie and Azusa with questions, watching intently as Azusa runs a hand over Tsubaki. “Is she going to be okay?” he asks. “What are you doing to her?”

Without looking up, Azusa asks, “Who is this?”

“Black Star, he was with us when the demon attacked,” Maka says defensively. “I wasn’t going to leave him outside so-”

A sharp edge enters Azusa’s voice. “You told him?”

She bristles. “What was I supposed to do?”

Stein intervenes. “Your friend is getting cold,” he says to Black Star. “There are some blankets in the back, could you bring a few to warm her up?”

Black Star hesitates for a moment, then glances down at Tsubaki, and nods.

Azusa waits until Black Star is out of earshot. “You have about a minute to explain.”

In a rapid burst, Maka recounts what Tsubaki told her, along with Masamune revealing himself, although she avoids any mention of the scythe resting at the bottom of her bag. She takes a breath when she finishes, heartbeat thrumming in her fingertips.

Black Star returns just as Maka finishes, holding several blankets in his arms. Without speaking, he begins arranging the blankets on Tsubaki.

“An exorcism like this isn’t going to be easy,” Marie says finally as Kid takes a blanket from Black Star and bundles it up as a pillow to put beneath Tsubaki’s head. She rubs the side of her face absently, gaze fixed on the black stripes on Tsubaki’s face. “How many reapers do we need?”

“It depends how much she’s fighting and how long she can keep him from taking over completely,” answers Azusa, pushing against the part of the needle sticking out from Tsubaki’s sleeve. A frown traces her face. “At least a dozen.”

Marie grimaces. “It’s a struggle to get four or five.” With another look at Tsubaki, she backs away. “I’ll see if I can round anyone up.”

“This is not the ideal place for an exorcism,” comments Stein as the door clicks closed behind Marie.

“She has minutes left, not hours, so it’ll have to do,” Azusa replies, suddenly businesslike. “What do you have to purify the space?”

“It’s rather bold of you to assume I have anything,” he drawls, adjusting his glasses as he moves away from the table.

Ignoring him, Azusa mutters inaudibly under her breath. Her shadow sniffers materialize one by one, gathering silently at her feet. Maka counts over twenty sniffers when they stop appearing. There is a sheen of sweat on Azusa’s brow, and she breathes heavily for a moment before turning to Kid. “You know what you need to do?”

He nods, then looks to the sisters, pulling his guns from their holsters. “You should rest before we start.”

“Anything to get away from that demon stench,” says Liz, wrinkling her nose. “I’ve been choking on it since we got into the elevator.”

“It’s not that bad,” Patti counters, drifting down from the ceiling. “You’re just acting and thinking like you were still alive.”

“And you don’t?”

“Nope, I just wish I was alive,” says Patti as the sisters disappear into the guns.

A feeling of uselessness sinks into Maka while she watches Kid retreat into a corner of the room and Stein return with cubes similar to the one he gave her. Even Black Star is unusually quiet, smoothing the creases in Tsubaki’s blankets. His expression has fixed itself on her face again, although Maka knows he is paying close attention to everything happening around him.

She floats after Stein; talking to Azusa for too long runs the risk of the psychic seeing something that’ll unravel her secret, although she has a sinking feeling that Azusa knows enough to piece it together anyways. Stein doesn’t acknowledge her presence, except for holding out a few of the cubes for Maka to take.

One by one, he activates the cubes, light emanating in a steady radiance as he arranges them on the floor, or places them precariously on an overstuffed cabinet or table. It’s hard to make out a pattern until she sees the light from the cubes overlap each other, covering the entire lab in its glow.

“Didn’t take too long to find trouble, did it?” Stein isn’t looking at Maka when he finally speaks, cramming a cube next to a liquid filled jar with a well-preserved eyeball floating in it.

A scowl crosses her face. “You should have warned us when you opened the door.”

“And tell Azusa and Marie to ignore the body floating in mid-air as you scurried away?”

Heat blooms in her face, and she grits her teeth. “I could have tried something here.”

Stein takes a cube from Maka. “Do you mean more than you already tried with my invention?”

For a moment, she splutters. “How did you know?”

“The giant rip in your friend’s clothes was the first clue.” He finally looks at her. “Azusa and Marie probably believe it’s because of the demon.”

Relief is marginal. “Well, I guess now you know it’s useless against demons.” She pauses. “It’s not much more effective against poltergeists.”

“Yes, Azusa told me about last night, the horde is still out there.” He gives a shrug. “I can try making some adjustments, but it slows the poltergeists at least.”

“That’s still nothing.” The flood of tears welling up in her eyes is unexpected, turns her speechless. She shoves the last of the cubes in Stein’s hands and walks away before he can say anything else.

Her nails dig hard enough into her skin that a tiny drop of blood beads from one of the welts; she wipes it away on the inside of her jacket sleeve, and fights with herself before she approaches Azusa. “What can I do?”

“A demon possession like this requires a large gathering of reapers and their ghosts to force the demon out,” says Azusa. She glances down at Maka, a twinge of sympathy flitting across her face. “There’s little you can do without one.”

The truth pinches at Maka with a vicious bite; she swallows it down. “Wouldn’t it be easier just to kill the demon while it’s possessing her?”

“Attacking a demon while it’s possessing someone is too dangerous.” Azusa snaps her fingers and the sniffers spring into motion, dispersing to the edges of the room. “It can destroy the body.”

Maka’s mouth goes dry while Black Star’s glare drills into the back of her head. Quickly, she finds her voice-she doesn’t want to know what Azusa’s future sight will see if they continue down this line of the conversation. “Then how do the reapers force out the demon?”

“It’s called group resonance.” With a wave of her hand, the sniffers stretch themselves so they resemble shadows. “The resonance between two souls is what allows a reaper to do their job- slaying the poltergeist and forcing its soul into death,” she says. “For a possession, the resonance of several reaper pairs draws out and kills the demon.”

Maka’s eyes trail to Tsubaki. “Is it as easy as it sounds?”

“Hardly.” Azusa glances at Stein, who is placing and activating the cubes around the room. “But there is no other option.”

The lights overhead go out just as a clanging on the door rings throughout the lab. Maka and Black Star start while Kid springs to his feet. Stein pauses in the middle of placing the last cube, exchanging a glance with Azusa. “Who is it?” he says.

“Stein?” Marie’s voice comes from the other side of the door as the knocking intensifies. “Let me in.”

Maka frowns. “I thought the door was unlocked.”

“It is for people,” he answers as he moves to the door. His hand rests on the handle. “How did we meet?”

The door rattles in its frame. “I got lost looking for my office on my first day here, and I walked into your dissection room.”

“And what was I dissecting?”

“Nothing, you were taking a nap!”

“Good.” Stein opens the door, and Marie bursts through, crashing into him. She detaches from him, stumbling slightly, and slams the door shut. With the power out, the only light comes from the cubes on the floor. They cast harsh shadows on Marie’s face, the calm in her expression splintering as she jabs a finger at the door, although no words come out of her mouth.

Azusa strides forward and Maka trails behind, the shadows on the wall rippling as Azusa’s sniffers follow their master. “What happened?”

“I was heading for the elevator when I passed the lab. I thought I got lost so I went back the way I’d come.” Marie’s hand falls to her side. Her expression is slightly dazed.

Azusa’s voice is impatient. “After that?”

“I went past the lab again.” Marie turns away from the door; her hands are trembling. “No matter what direction I went in or if I tried going down a different hallway, I always ended up on front of the lab,” she says. “I figured it was the demon trying to stop the exorcism. I tried the door, but it was locked, and when I knocked, no one answered.”

“But Stein answered right away,” says Kid, frowning. “A poltergeist or demon can’t warp time and space like that either, nor can anything else from Abeyance, except a witch.”

Maka’s blood runs cold, but Marie gives a rapid shake of her head. “I was knocking for at least five minutes. Eventually, I gave up so I purified the space to see if I could force the demon into revealing himself.”

Azusa glances at the door. “What did you see?”

“Nothing, at first,” she says. “But then the lights went out, and a darkness came over everything, and then I blinked and heard Stein.” She meets Maka’s eyes. “It was like how you described the Rift.”

A silence follows briefly-Stein is the first to speak. “If they weren’t all in Abeyance, I would say this entire thing would reek of witch’s magic.”

Crona’s name almost escapes from Maka’s mouth. Soul’s warning echoes in her ears; she doesn’t know if it’s possible for Crona to have traveled from Abeyance to here overnight, but if this isn’t a poltergeist or demon, then it could only be Crona. Her head swims-she isn’t aware she’s moving until a hand clamps around her arm.

“What are you doing?” Black Star stares at her with alarm.

She yanks her arm free. “We can’t do an exorcism with one reaper,” she snaps, looking to Azusa. “Can we?”

There is a small beat of hesitation before Azusa speaks. “The chance of success would be so small, it’d be close to zero,” she says, glancing from Maka to Black Star.

Maka’s heart pounds faster in her chest-she wouldn’t risk Tsubaki’s life, but this could be her only chance to confront Crona. “If I go, I could use my perception to find my way out of the demon’s maze,” she says. “I could find reapers, bring them back.”

It takes longer for Azusa to answer. The gaze she fixes Maka with is cutting, as if she can see through to the tangled web of truths and lies she is trying to keep from unraveling. “It will be too late,” she says finally, a subtle edge in her voice. “You wouldn’t be successful either.”

“So you’re just going to let Tsubaki die?” bursts out Black Star.

“No, we’re going to kill this demon,” Azusa replies, manner turning cool and brisk again. “Gather around the table.” She nods at Kid. “You’ll be leading this time clearly.”

Black Star shadows Azusa as she moves away from the door. “But you said we had nearly no chance of saving Tsubaki!”

“Nearly is not the same as no chance at all.” She sweeps him forward while Stein, Kid and Marie arrange themselves around the table, and raises an arm as Maka passes by. In a quiet voice, she says, “And we will discuss what I saw later.”

It’s the axe Maka has been waiting to fall since she walked in the lab, snapping the tightrope she’s been balancing on. There isn’t time to feel, and she doesn’t allow herself to wonder what Azusa could have seen in her future sight; she gives a short bob of her head and walks away without looking at the psychic.

Stein and Marie are murmuring to each other as she slides her way next to Black Star. He stands beside Tsubaki’s head, while Kid is on the other side, eyes closed and arms crossed in an X, Liz and Patti’s guns brushing against his face.

“What did the boss lady want?” Black Star raises his eyes briefly from Tsubaki’s face as Maka joins him.

Her smile is humorless. “Another story to save for Tsubaki.”

He doesn’t challenge her, for once. They both look down at Tsubaki; her breathing is even slower than when they were driving, and the color has drained from her completely.

Azusa appears out of nowhere, taking a spot between Kid and Marie. She sets a wooden metronome at the edge of the table. The sliding weight on the pendulum is carved into the shape of a skull, the pits of empty space it has for eyes boring into Maka.

Black Star eyes the metronome warily. “What are we going to do with that?”

“In a traditional exorcism, the entire space outside of the circle is purified by several mediums, which allows the resonance between the reaper pairs to drive the demon from the body of the possessed into the reapers’ bodies,” says Azusa. She gestures to the middle of the circle. “If the group resonance is strong enough, the demon is forced to take refuge in the only part of the space that isn’t purified. A reaper has the chance to kill the demon then, but it usually takes more than one attempt to kill it.”

“Group resonance is hard to maintain and quick to break down.” Marie picks up the metronome, sliding the weight down. She casts a glance at a circle. “Ours won’t last more than one try.”

“We already know the odds.” Black Star’s fingers tap impatiently on the table. “What do we need to do?”

Marie hands back the metronome to Azusa. “The cubes Stein made will help keep the lab purified, but I’m going to do a quick sweep of the room.”

“If we pull the demon through our circle, it would be more likely than not that one of us would end up possessed since the majority of us are not reapers,” Azusa says as Marie heads to the back of the lab. She points to the metronome. “So we’re going to use our resonance to push the demon out.”

Black Star’s brow furrows. “What is resonance?”

“It’s like the breathing of the soul.” Azusa reaches over to the metronome and gives the pendulum a nudge. The metal of the skull weight gives the metronome’s wooden clicks a sonorous echo. “Every soul resonates, but only those with supernatural abilities are aware of it.”

“This metronome was created by one of our psychics,” she says just as Marie rejoins the group, giving Azusa a short nod. “We use it at the beginning of exorcisms to help align the souls’ wavelength.” She looks at Stein and Black Star. “Even though you are not gifted, the metronome should pull your soul into line with ours.”

“And after that?” asks Black Star.

“It will take a few minutes for the resonance to build,” Marie says. “Kid will take the lead to direct the resonance to the demon.” She sounds slightly out of breath. “With the wards I’ve laid down, there won’t be any room for it to go anywhere but into the circle.”

“The most important thing is not to break the circle,” Azusa adds. Her iron stare finds Black Star, then Maka. “It will break the group’s resonance, and your friend will be beyond saving.”

The silence that comes afterward is broken only by the rhythmic click of the metronome as the weight of their reality becomes tangible. This kind of fear is contagious, constricting around the group like a vice. Maka glances around. The air has the sharp tang that marks one of Marie’s purification rituals, and is filled with the same heaviness as when the medium clears a space after a reaping.

“It won’t get any easier to start,” Stein says finally.

“Right.” Azusa gives her head a shake. “The easiest thing to do is to focus on the metronome,” she says. “You can close your eyes, if you wish.”

Maka and Black Star exchange a final glance, and then she closes her eyes.

Trying to resonate without Soul is discomfiting, like trying to breathe underwater. Maka shifts, and her foot knocks into one of the legs of the table. The clang resounds; she cringes. “Sorry.”

The tense quiet settles over the room again, and Maka focuses on the metronome. She shoves aside her discomfort, pretends that Soul is next to her instead of in Abeyance. Nothing happens at first, if she concentrates hard enough, she can feel Kid, Patti and Liz resonating, but they are moving on a different wavelength.

Panic winds in a frenetic thrum around her heart; she swallows it down. _Just listen to the clicking._

The voice in her head sounds oddly like Soul. She holds her breath until her heartbeat nearly matches the even rhythm of the metronome. _Just listen._

She starts when Black Star’s soul comes roaring in, narrowly avoiding breaking the circle. His soul is louder than hers, bouncing everywhere, though it’s in the exact same beat as Maka’s. There is a stir beside her, and she hears Black Star suck in a breath.

“It’s alright,” she whispers.

When Black Star goes still, she tunes back into her perception. One by one, the souls of the rest spark in the perception field. They thread together in a fragile link that strengthens as the minutes tick by. Tsubaki’s soul lies outside of their chain, something stilted in the beat of her soul, most likely Masamune.

Kid’s soul, orderly and calm, surges forward. The rest of their resonance chain moves with him, not quite reaching Tsubaki. When he tries again, Maka pushes along in Tsubaki’s direction as well.

Something shatters when the chain touches Tsubaki’s soul, but it’s the scream renting apart the air that makes Maka’s eyes fly open.

Tsubaki convulses on the lab table; the marks on her body have turned scarlet, running down her skin like blood. She’s opened her eyes finally, irises stained the darkest black. Her scream ricochets against the walls, wild and inhuman. Abruptly, it extinguishes in a guttural wail, but the silence that follows is worse.

The light from the cubes flicker temporarily; across the table, Kid tenses, raising his guns. “Don’t break the circle.”

As soon as she speaks, Tsubaki sits up. The light from the cubes snuff out completely.

 _It’s not right._ Maka can tell by the way Kid’s hands waver, the sharp intake coming from Marie. There is a rumbling in the air that shakes the ground, in her head, she feels her hold in the group’s resonance fracture.

Tsubaki swings her legs over the edge of the table; beyond the circle, the door to the lab crashes open.

Maka is careful to stay rooted in the exorcism circle as she reaches out and seizes Tsubaki by the hand.

And then, she sees them.

Crona.

* * *

Soul expects to see Maka as soon as he enters the darkness. When he doesn’t, he frowns and kicks forward, running his thumb across his palm. His skin is so hot, it’s nearly burning, but the heat is comforting in a way.

He keeps an eye out for the ball of light as he heads in a straight line, unsure of where Maka could be. There is no pull from her soul, no sign of her anywhere, but it isn’t frightening to search around in the dark now that he knows what it is.

A small part of him is railing to go back to Abeyance-Maka hadn’t been calling to him when the heat flashed in his hand, and he hadn’t been pulled in either, like with the poltergeist. He’d chosen to come, and he is choosing to stay.

Heartache is a river Soul hadn’t realized he’d been swimming in it until he felt Maka’s soul in his hand. It’d be easier to go into the Rift again than acknowledge his feelings, but he can’t deny how they pushes him against what he told her when he last saw her, muddles what he needs with what he wants. The way their last conversation ended digs at him-he had to let her know he was alright at least.

Stopping, Soul buries his face in his hands and silently screams. Who he is, whether it’s what she sees in him or what Medusa is inciting him to be, isn’t clear to him anymore, and with that, he loses sight of everything else.

Somewhere above him, Maka’s soul pulses in the dark.

* * *

Maka rights herself in the dark, heart thudding in her ears.

Her head swivels as she floats in place and memories from before Masamune pulled her into the darkness surface. She tilts her chin upward, listening hard. The silence of this darkness is the same as the one where she finds Soul: cool and peaceful.  Distantly, a familiar chill in her hand settles into her bones and she freezes; stunned disbelief washes over her, but the low whimpering nearby pulls her attention away.

Crona is curled into themselves just below her, wings billowing out, more pitch than the darkness. Their face is normal from what Maka can make of it. She watches them warily-she is an easy target with no weapon. When they continue to stay curled up, she hesitates before approaching them cautiously.

“Now what do I do?” Their whispers are frantic, bordering on frenzied. They speak as if they’re talking to someone, although all Maka sees is their wings. “He’s infected,” they mutter, sinking further inside themselves. “I don’t know how to deal with that.”

“Do you know who I am?” Maka speaks before her courage can fail her, rounding in front of Crona.

She was only half-right on Crona having their face; the lower half is nothing but jet black fissures splitting them ear to ear, although their eyes are wide and terrified. They recoil away. “Rabbit girl.”

The name makes Maka pause, but at least she can see the recognition in Crona’s eyes. She chooses her next words carefully. The malice twisted in the creature’s soul is not their own-their soul almost feels like a child. “You’re called Crona, right?”

There’s a long moment of quiet, and then they bob their head.

“Good.” She hides her sigh of relief. “I have a friend named Soul who lives in your world,” she says, clenching her hands nervously. “Do you know where he is over there?”

Crona unravels. “I never spoke to the kishin, Mother says I can’t talk about them.” They pull at their hair, shaking their head. “ _I_ should have been the kishin!”

In the dark, Maka doesn’t see their wings coming-her head snaps back as the wings lash out and send her hurtling backwards. The force of the hit threatens to bring down a different kind of darkness; instead, she sees stars as she crashes into something solid.

She tumbles back in a somersault. Whatever she’s ran into has a tight grip around her arms. A vision of Masamune crosses her vision and she fights wildly, grunting in victory when her kick lands home. Their grip loosens, though not completely, and Maka wrenches an arm loose, whirling around.

Her fist drops away, the bite of its chill radiating outwards. “Soul.”

* * *

The pain from Maka’s well-placed kick disappears as soon as she breathes his name.

He wants to touch her to make sure she’s not an illusion, though the way she’d slammed into him and everything afterward assures him she isn’t. His hands are still on her arms, and he pulls back.

Maka’s eyes don’t leave his as he shifts away; he’s acutely aware that he hasn’t answered her yet, but he can’t seem to find his voice. Even if he could, he has no idea what he’d say: honesty might save him, but it would probably ruin him as well.

At her sides, Maka’s hands furl and unfurl. “I need your help.”

He’s nodding before she finishes her sentence.

* * *

From time to time, Maka looks for Crona, but they’re nowhere to be found, vanished into the dark. With a slight tilt of her head, she peeks at Soul from the corner of her eyes, and looks away quickly when she sees him doing the same.

She hadn’t expected him to come-according to Soul, he’d felt her call in Abeyance and decided to come, thinking it another situation like the poltergeist in the woods, though he refuses to explain why he vanished abruptly last night. They lapsed into silence soon after that.

It lingers now, although she longs to break it. The urge to revive their conversation from last time, demand he finish what he’d been on the verge of saying, rises on her lips every time she opens her mouth to take a breath, but she locks her voice against it. Finding Tsubaki and Masamune is her main priority; everything else will come after.

In the end, Soul is the one to talk first. “Do you think the demon chose Tsubaki to get to you?”

Maka shakes her head-she’d only told him about Masamune possessing Tsubaki, not that they were related. “When he was alive, the demon was a person called Masamune,” she says. “Tsubaki was his sister.”

There is a ripple of shock on his face, but there is none of the rapidfire questions or denials like Black Star lobbed at her when she told him. When he speaks again, she has to lean in to hear him.

“Do you think he’s still human?”

“He chose to be a monster,” Maka says. “That’s the most human thing I can think of.” She kicks forward, considering. “I don’t know if that means he’s still human or not.”

“I’ve seen the things witches can do, the illusions they can make him see-they could’ve driven him mad,” he replies, though by the way he is speaking, it’s like he’s talking to himself more than to Maka. “The choice wasn’t entirely his.”

“Everyone is responsible for what they become.” Then, she frowns, absorbing his words. “Wait, how do you know so much about witches?”

Soul is silent, briefly. “It’s hard to avoid their presence.”

“Meaning you spent time with one?”

This time, he doesn’t answer.

“I trust you.” She needs him to know this, despite her pain and anger. “I still don’t know why you felt you had to leave, but I trust you.”

For a long moment, there’s no sign that he heard her; it’s almost as if he’s frozen. Another moment passes, and then he nods.

Maka looks away. It’s clear there isn’t more he’s going to say on the subject; the need to know why he left her in the Rift still burns, but it’s enough that he is here.

“Do you know where we’re going?” he asks after another silence.

It takes a few seconds for her to answer. “Maybe.” She looks around. “We’re close, I think.”

“Maybe?”

“I don’t exactly have a map of wherever this is, do you?” Tsubaki is barely a flicker on her perception field, and while Masamune is a dead weight in the field, he’s moving too fast for her to fix on his location.

“No.” There’s a trace of amusement in Soul’s voice. “But I do have an idea of what this place is now.”

“And what is that?”

“Do you remember when we jumped from the tree and woke up in the hospital?” he asks. “And the darkness in between?”

She combs through her memories; there’d been a soft darkness and the thrum of another soul before Spirit’s voice and the noises of the hospital pulled her awake. “Yes.”

“What about after you were hit by the truck and...after?”

“You mean when I died?” The sound of brakes squealing against asphalt and pain exploding across her body echoes, there’s a faint memory of darkness, but it’s hazy. “I don’t remember that as clearly,” she says, glancing at Soul. “Do you?”

“I do.” His gaze meets hers. “And I think is the same place.”

It takes a minute for Maka to process. “So you think this is where dead souls go?”

He shrugs. “Where they’re supposed to go, at least.”

“But how did we make back home?” She drifts to a stop, spinning around slowly. There’s nothing that makes the dark distinct, no path or trail.

“Maybe it was because of you.”

“Or you.”

Soul starts moving again. “I doubt that.”

They travel for another several minutes, Maka leading the way. She tries to get a fix on Masamune; he seems to be slowing down, but he’s moving erratically. What she can sense is enough to pull them in his general direction.

“Something isn’t right,” says Soul shortly after they switch into a new direction. He points to a patch of darkness ahead of them. “Do you see it?”

It takes a minute for Maka to see what he is pointing at. The mound of darkness looks like the same as the rest of the murk, but the closer she scrutinizes it, the more she can see it is wrong. There is something more opaque about this dark; it’s shifting, morphing. She can’t tell what it is until the patch splits, and the forked hands of Masamune’s stick figures cut against the dark.

She glances around them.

They’re surrounded.

Both of them go still as a grave, but after a beat, Soul whispers, “I don’t think they see us.” He’s drawn closer, the side of his body grazing against Maka’s.

“And how do you figure that?”

“We’re not dead, for one.” The stick figures overlap, motionless as trees in the dead of night. “Twice dead, in my case.”

“So you’re saying we can just stroll out of here?”

“A little slower than that, maybe.” From the corner of her vision, she sees his head twist. “I’ll go one way, and you go the other.”

Being alone in the dark with Masamune’s stick figures reminds Maka of huddling beneath her covers while the poltergeists tormented her; she shakes her head vigorously. “No, we go together, or not at all.”

She can hear the roll of his eyes in his voice. “If they go after you, I can distract them. If I’m with you, I can’t.”

“Well, I’m not asking you to do that.”

“You don’t have to,” he hisses.

“And you don’t have to either.”

Soul sighs. “Fine.”

“Masamune and Tsubaki are that way.” She points ahead of them, to the right, where two stick figures float quietly. “We should go under.”

Their hands brush as he moves to see where she points. “Okay.”

She sucks in a breath. “All right.”

They sink down in inches, moving slowly. Their hands stay pressed together as they descend; Maka watches the stick figures, but they remain where they are. She keeps her gaze fixed on them until they meld back into the dark again, and continues to peek back afterwards.

“I think it’s safe,” she whispers after another minute. She’s about to suggest that they move up when the stench of Masamune’s aura surges over them.

“Postponing the inevitable just extends the suffering.” The demon drops down in front of Maka and Soul, baring a violent grin, which widens when his gaze falls on Soul. “My visits to the hospital taught me that.” Behind him, a stick figure follows, carrying Tsubaki in its hands. Her eyes are open, but she doesn’t move, staring into nothing.

The pulse of her soul is extinguished to almost nothing.

“There’s a difference between what happened to you and what you’re doing to Tsubaki,” she spits. Soul’s hand laces around hers to keep Maka from lunging at Masamune. She kicks at the air. “She never hides in the shadows; you’re a coward!”

Masamune’s grin vanishes. “I am better in every way than my sister,” he hisses. “She had an equal chance to fight but she could never be honest about what she wanted; she chose to stay stuck in the past instead, even now.”

Moving to the side, he gestures to his sister. “Take a look for yourself.”

She glances at Soul, whose grip tightens, and she gives a nod. The stick figure drifts forward and pauses, extending its arms out to Maka. It goes against fiber of her being to turn her back on Masamune, but Soul’s hold keeps her steady.

Masamune’s eyes are on Soul as they pass by; he inhales deeply. “Kishin,” he breathes. “Delicious.”

Bewildered, Maka looks at him, but he shakes his head. “I don’t know.”

She bites back her question and looks ahead again. The markings on Tsubaki are absent; she takes this to mean that Masamune hasn’t taken her soul yet, but her breathing is as ragged as her soul’s pulse.

The chill of Tsubaki’s skin bleeds over to Maka, though it’s the cascade of memories that steal her breath. These memories are not hers: visions of running through a park with Masamune, who is alive and much younger, and staying up late to watch TV morphs into sitting in waiting rooms and hovering over Masamune while nurses prod at him. The lightness in the earlier memories deadens; Masamune grows thinner and more fragile-looking.

When the memory of his last hospital visit floods her vision, Maka braces herself for his death and funeral, but the memory never comes. Instead, the memories seem to freeze, and then everything reels backwards, and the memories from the beginning start again.

The bright colors of Tsubaki’s memories shift back into darkness. Soul tugs Maka away from Tsubaki, Masamune’s laughter trailing after them.

“Do you see now?” he says as the cold overtaking Maka’s body finally registers. It’s nothing like the coolness of Soul-the frost from the demon is nearly harsh enough to crack her whole. “Her memories nearly turned you into a zombie too, didn’t they?”

“That’s part of your tricks.” She rubs her hands together, trying to knead the feeling back in her fingers, and strains to see Tsubaki. There had been a jolt when Soul pulled her away, the beat of her soul had strengthened for a moment.

“Maybe,” Masamune answers. “Now, I was going to give you the chance to leave, but then you walked in with a kishin soul.” His gaze goes to Soul. “I’m afraid I can’t let you go.”

Stick figures with pointed fingers and toes come to life around Maka and Soul. Maka’s eyes dart up and down-there are too many of them to count. It’s overwhelming, nearly makes her lie down without a fight, but her stubbornness grounds her. She waves her arms to ward off the shadows when they begin to enclose around her and Soul.

“You go,” Soul speaks out of the corner of his mouth. He’s turned so they’re back to back, though he tugs on her hand. “I can distract him while you try again with the exorcism.”

“No.” She’ll fight, even if she only has her fingernails for weapons, but she won’t leave him or Tsubaki behind. She can’t help squeezing his hand back; despite everything that’s happened, their souls still beat in time with each other. “I’m staying.”

One of the stick figures closer to Maka charges; her hand forms a fist as she lashes out, praying that a shadow like Masmune’s stick figures can feel pain.

The branched point of the stick figure’s hand goes through Maka’s arm like water, but agony does not light through her arm. Instead, it’s the figure that hunches over, like it had been the one stabbed, freezing in place for a moment before it dissolves away into dust.

Shock turns her mind blank, the world hangs in an odd limbo. Soul’s hand squeezes around Maka’s again, and in a rush, the memory from when they defeated the demon with no scythe two years ago tumbles to the front of her thoughts.

For the first time since he left, Soul’s presence rings clear on the other side of their link.

“Resonance,” they breathe out.

They move somewhere in between a dance and shadowboxing, like when they reaped together months ago. The stick figures are quick, trying to fit within the space between their hands to push them apart, but they lock their arms together. All of the shadows disintegrate the moment they touch Maka or Soul.

By the time the stick figures stop their march on them, both of them are doubled over from exhaustion; although the shadows’ attacks did no damage, the rot from their master’s soul chipped away at their resonance. It’s stretched thin now, ready to snap at the touch of a feather.

“That’s enough.” From where he is, Masamune waves his hand forward and the only stick figure left comes forward to stand next to him, carrying Tsubaki. His expression is a mask of ice and rage. “Your game has bored me.”

Maka tenses; their resonance won’t withstand more than one attack from Masamune, and she knows they can’t take a demon like him down in one hit.

The demon’s eyes gleam crimson as he approaches. “You should have just given up,” he tells them. “It would have been easier.”

From nowhere, a bead of light appears. Its radiance stings Maka’s eyes, but Soul reaches out to it, like he’s greeting an old friend. The light elongates as soon as it touches his hand into a familiar shape.

Soul thrusts the scythe in her hands, and launches himself at Masamune. “Use this!”

Maka wraps her fingers around the scythe’s middle, frozen for an instant. Her eyes dart to Soul, who has his arms locked around Masamune, the easiest target he’ll ever be, and to Tsubaki. Before she can think twice, she acts, bringing the scythe’s blade down on the stick figure.

Masamune breaks free as his last shadow fades to nothing; knocking the scythe from Maka’s hands and throwing her backwards with a furious scream. She feels herself slam into Soul again, his hands righting her. Beyond them, Tsubaki’s body drifts, the scythe hovering next to her.

There is something beastlike about Masamune as the demon stalks towards them; Maka shoves her fear down and holds onto Soul with an iron grip, her other hand curled into a fist. She won’t go down begging for her life.

The noise that Tsubaki makes as she stirs is nearly inaudible.

Masamune grinds to a halt, twisting around as Tsubaki pushes herself into a sitting position and rubs her eyes. Maka’s voice becomes stuck in her throat as Tsubaki looks down at the scythe, picks it up, and blinks, like she’s not sure if any of this is real or not. Her eyes are still filled with the haze of the trance Masamune put on her, she makes no protest when one of her brother’s shadows wraps around her waist.

“So my sister finally decides to honor us with her presence.” The stick figures Maka and Soul defeated rise up as Masamune speaks. “How gracious.”

Tsubaki’s gaze falls on Maka, but she makes no sign of recognition, though when she looks at Masamune, her lips flutter.

“Do you recognize me?” His eyes seep back to black. “You never thought your poor, weak brother could be this strong, could you?”

“Masamune.” Tsubaki speaks like she is in a dream.

“About time.” He flicks her head. “I’m going to kill you,” he says, razor-sharp and triumphant. “But first, tell me who you are.”

“I...” Tsubaki’s answer trails off as she stares at her brother. “I’m...”

A vicious smile spreads across Masamune’s mouth when she doesn’t finish her sentence. “That’s what I thought.”

He swings Tsubaki forward, in plain view of Maka and Soul. “Your friends thought differently and tried to save you, but you and I know the truth.”

Tsubaki’s eyes seem to clear when she looks at Maka again; she turns towards her brother. “Masamune.”

“No, no.” A shadow forces her mouth shut. “You don’t deserve to say my name more than once,” the demon tells her. Hatred breathes a fire in his eyes. “You were and will always be nothing.” His tone is bitter and mocking. “Go on, say it,” he says to her. “Your last words should be fitting.”

“I’m not nothing.” Tsubaki’s words are more breath than sound, but they carry over in the dark.

Oh?” The shadow around her waist constricts. “And why not?”

“Because I’m Tsubaki.” Her voice is soft, like the first ray of sunlight after a long night. “I’m your sister.”

She lifts her head, scythe lifting in her hand. “But I am not your shadow.”

An awful tearing sound fills the air as the blade rips through Masamune and frees itself out of his back. The shadow around Tsubaki vanishes along with every other stick creature, but she doesn’t move. Her hand is still laced around the scythe, tears streaming down her face. The demon stares at his sister in surprise, like he is seeing her for the first time.

“Your sister,” she repeats, letting of of the scythe and her hands going from herself to his face. “Tsubaki.”

“Tsubaki.” Pieces of Masamune are fragmenting apart, peeling him to nothing, though he seems not to notice. “My sister.”

“Tsubaki,” he says again when he is almost worn away completely. “Well, I guess that is something beautiful after all.”

There is a trace of a smile on Masamune’s face as he disappears. “Goodbye.”

Tsubaki drops the scythe, lunging for her brother, but she vanishes before she can reach the place where he was.

Alarmed, Maka shoots forward to where the two were, but then she feels the distant pull of Tsubaki in her perception field. Her heart drops from her throat back into her chest. “She’s traveling back,” she says to Soul. “She’ll be fine, I think.”

“Except for nightmares.” He moves to rest next to her. “Chamomile mixed with lavender helps.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Plucking the scythe from where it lies, she turns to Soul and hands it to him. “Thank you for your help.”

Her words are stilted and awkward; she doesn’t know where they stand after what they just went through (or where she wants them to stand). Soul nods, then gives her a look, raising the scythe. “No questions?”

Maka presses her lips together. “Nope.”

His eyebrows lift. “Now I know you’re lying.”

The smile that breaks across her face is nervous, fragile, and sincere, mirroring the one on Soul’s. They share it like it’s a secret, and the moment passes as quickly as a flash of light on the horizon.

“The scythe first came to me the same way it did now, though from where, I don’t know,” he says, moving the scythe to his other hand. “I think I helped someone move on with it.”

“That’s excellent.” Her tone is too cheery to be believable; that should have provoked a whole round of questions, but all she can focus on is the resonance chain calling her back more and more forcefully. Soul says nothing-their hands are still twined, bond beating loudly in the silence. She should say something, but it would break the peace they’ve fallen in, and she can’t seem to summon her voice anyways.

“You should go.” Soul moves away first. “I’ll find you if I discover anything new about what the witches are planning.” He glances at Maka. “If you ever need help, I’m here.”

“Okay.” It’s much less than what she wants to say, but nothing else seems right either. “I’ll be here too,” she say finally.

His voice burrows in her head as Maka lets the group’s resonance pull her away. “Goodbye.”


	9. Interlude

Tsubaki wakes up to a series of beeps and the sound of hushed voices. The world swims in the disorienting pallor that follows a nightmare, and she squeezes her eyes closed again. Her mouth tastes sour as she bites lightly on her tongue to make sure she’s not still dreaming, the rest of her body too heavy to move even an inch.

The prick of pain tells Tsubaki that she’s awake, but she keeps her eyes closed. She’s not sure what time it is, whether it’s still today or tomorrow, which makes no sense to her at all. It’s then that the beeps register with her, and she realizes she might be in a hospital. Her stomach constricts tight with dread-her parents won’t visit her in a hospital.

Panic is too much to feel; she focuses on finding the last thing she remembers instead, and recoils when Masamune’s face fills her vision. The beeps quicken in the background-there’s a weight pulling down on her hand, it must be him, she tries to find her limbs, but her body is too heavy to run.

One of the voices grows louder; she knows it’s Masamune, taunting her in the trampoline park’s tunnel. She doesn’t want to fight him, she tries to say, but he doesn’t listen, calling her name over and over. Her eyes squeeze tighter. He wants her to open them, but then she’ll see the shadows that no one else can see, or him-she’s not sure which is worse. The right words might placate him, but she doesn’t know what to say-he’d thought everything she told him was in pity when his sickness took hold.

Masamune’s voice sounds right by her ear. “Tsubaki!”

Her eyes fly open. “Leave me alone!”

She’s blinded by blue; Black Star’s face creeps into her vision. Bewildered, she blinks, and then sees Maka standing behind Black Star with a murderous look on her face before her gaze slides to Tsubaki. For a long moment, there is nothing, but the sound of the beeping as she stares at the two of them and they back at her.

A door rattles open, and a man wearing a tattered lab coat ambles in. “Oh good, she’s awake,” he says, slamming the door shut and sending Tsubaki’s thoughts scattering.

“What are you doing here?” Black Star rounds on the man. “She was sleeping!”

“One, this is my office, and secondly, considering we could hear you through the walls, I doubt your friend was sleeping.” The man sweeps Black Star and Maka out of the way, but instead of looking at the machine Tsubaki is hooked up to, he casts a glance upwards. She follows his gaze, and sees her reflection looking down at her from the mirror mounted on the ceiling. The overstuffed room she’s in is certainly not a hospital, and the bed she’s lying on is not a bed, but two mismatched couches pushed together.

Maka draws closer to the man, staring up at the mirror as well. “Is it okay?”

“It looks like it, but this isn’t an exact science,” says the man.

“Science?” Black Star joins them underneath the mirror. “You’re a doctor!”

“I do better with dead things.”

While Black Star sputters, the not-doctor makes eye contact with Tsubaki for the first time since he came in the room. “Are you done carrying your brother?”

Tsubaki blinks, then stares harder at her reflection, but she sees only herself and the others in it. Masamune isn’t there-in fact, she can’t feel him anywhere, like she has for the past few months. A headache spikes in her temples, and she wonders if she could simply go back to sleep, and maybe then she’ll understand things better.

“That’s not something you need to answer.” The man says after glancing at the machine. “Some rest might be the best treatment.”

She shakes her head, even though she just wished she could get lost in a dream. “I don’t want to sleep.”

“Suit yourself,” he says with a shrug. “I’m not an actual doctor anyways.”

He turns, glancing at Maka. “I’ll give you some time, but-”

She interrupts him. “I know.”

“All right.” He casts another look at Tsubaki. “Don’t push yourself too much.”

Mercifully, he doesn’t let the door slam this time.

Maka perches on the edge of one of the couches after the man leaves. “How are you feeling?”

“I don’t know.” Shaking her head makes Tsubaki feel like her brain is going to fall out of her ears. She stares down at her lap until the world stops spinning a bit. “What happened?”

Maka’s expression turns cautious. “What do you remember?”

“Nothing, I-” She pauses, and looks back at Maka. Tsubaki had seen her after the trampoline park, but she had been with a white-haired boy, and they had all been in the dark. There’d been someone else there, she had gone with him, he had been the one who brought her there.

“Masamune,” she whispers.

The memory feels more like a dream. She’d been cold, floating in the dark; she can’t remember much more than that, but she remembers what he’d called her in the end.

_Something beautiful._

She doesn’t know she’s crying until Black Star reaches over and wipes the tear running down her face. The breath she lets out is more like a sob, but her pain doesn’t feel like something she has to hide anymore.

_Are you ready to stop carrying your brother?_

Tsubaki takes Black Star’s hand, and looks up to Maka. “Tell me everything.”

* * *

Azusa’s office is small, wedged between Marie and Stein’s, though Maka can see that she’s largely taken over Stein’s space. Although the filing cabinets taking up most of the area in both her and Stein’s offices are overflowing, her desk is as precise and orderly as her appearance.

The only thing on her desk right now is the scythe Stein made her, sitting innocently in its cube form. Next to Maka, Stein leans back in his chair, casually examining the ceiling tiles. He doesn’t seem concerned about Azusa’s tirade, though Marie, who stands beside the desk, does.

“It is completely irresponsible to make a weapon for a reaper without a bond,” she says, chair scraping back as she stands, evidently too angry to stay sitting. “Let alone without our team’s approval.”

“I did submit for approval last week,” Stein says easily, finally sitting up. “I believe it was filed under technology designed to augment reaper performance.”

Maka thinks she sees a vein throb in Azusa’s temple. “That was for current reapers, and you know it.”

“Which is what I still consider Maka,” replies Stein.

At that, Maka looks up in astonishment. She’d never considered why Stein helped her these past weeks, other than to use her as a guinea pig for his experiments, and perhaps a buried soft spot for being Spirit’s daughter.

“We are at a poor time to deprive the DWMA of a reaper, particularly given what Maka has just shared with us,” Stein continues. “There has been a clear storm brewing on our doorstep.”

“Which is why we should have been told.” Marie speaks for the first time since Maka told the three that her bond with Soul survived. Her tone is more conciliatory than Azusa’s, but there is an edge of hurt there, too.

“I found out about the threat yesterday,” Maka says, fighting not to sound defensive. “I was planning on telling Stein, but then tonight happened.”

“And what would you have done after that?” asks Azusa. “Continue hunting poltergeists and demons in your spare time?”

“I was trying to help.” She tries not to cringe at the lie, but there’s no doubt that telling the three that she’s searching for Soul would have even Stein against her. “But I couldn’t tell you that the bond was still there, with how you reacted after I closed the Rift.”

“Demons have tried to infiltrate the DWMA before.” Azusa steps to the side, pushing in her chair and crossing her arms. “We had to treat Soul’s desertion as a threat based on that history and the fact that we don’t know what happened to him before he met you.”

Heat enters Maka’s voice. “And the difference between Soul and a demon is that he isn’t one.”

“Why don’t we look at the facts?” Marie interrupts before Azusa can answer, waiting until she gets a grudging nod from Azusa before speaking. “A creature that we’ve never encountered before crossed the Rift months ago and began wearing down the Rift with its blood,” she says. She points to a map of a Rift hanging on a wall behind her. “Now, more Rift creatures and poltergeists have been crossing over everywhere, also infected with black blood.”

“The Rift is growing thinner everywhere and we’ve had more poltergeists try to break into the DWMA, ones that are coherent enough to carry back information across the Rift,” Marie continues. “What’s more is that we’ve gotten reports from sister organizations telling us the same thing, and now the creature behind all of this breaks into Stein’s lab and disappears without a trace before anyone can do anything.”

“One that you are saying was directed by a witch,” she finishes, looking to Maka.

She nods.

Marie glances at Stein. “How many probes have made it across the Rift?”

“One.” He holds up a single finger. “And it was destroyed minutes after.”

Maka sneaks a peek at Azusa while Marie speaks. “You’re saying Soul should be our eyes on the other side.” The anger on her face is mostly gone, but her tone is extremely reluctant.

“Do you see another option?” asks Stein.

There is a long silence.

“No,” says Azusa finally. She points to the cube on her desk. “I saw what that scythe could do to Crona if I’d let you into the hallway.” Her gaze flicks to Maka, then to Stein. “Could you engineer it to be stronger?”

Stein tilts his head to the side. “I could certainly try.”

“Good, because we do need another reaper.” Azusa’s stare is razor-sharp. “Everything he tells you needs to be reported immediately,” she says. “And there will be no more secrets.”

“There won’t be.” Maka goes still and tries not to think of Blair’s offer, so her guilt won’t betray her. “I promise.”

* * *

Medusa watches from the shadows as Cadme shifts out of her fox form and joins the other three witches gathered in the forest clearing. She waits while one of her snakes goes to ensure no other witch followed Cadme. These four witches had been young when the Rift was formed, easy to mold into her own faction within the coven, but it hadn’t gone unnoticed by Mabaa in the narrow confines of their new home, or unmet with resistance, which was why Medusa had to pluck out her eye.

The other witches still revered the half-blind mad witch, though, so Medusa has to let the old witch keep her figurehead status and work from the shadows. It’s what she prefers-there is more havoc that she can create from there.

A soft hiss announces her snake’s return. The thrum of the soul still beating weakly inside the shadow as it climbs up to her arm tempts Medusa’s hunger, but after millenia of slowly starving, it’s easy to ignore.

Her mind flicks to the snake monitoring Soul while she puts things into place. When she was at the peak of her power, there was no place on Earth that she couldn’t see through her snakes; now, it is impossible to see anything through them, but she trusts in the power of intimidation.

“Greetings, sisters.” The witches jump as she enters the clearing. Cadme’s hand goes to the bag at her side, where the fresh soul she caught bulges. None of them make eye contact with Medusa, fidgeting in place.

Titula, the youngest witch, speaks. “We heard about Arachne.”

“Did you?” Her gaze slides across all of them; fear isn’t something she minds in her followers, but it makes the mind idiotic. “What did you hear?”

“Nothing,” says Cadme. She is more loyal than the rest, ever since Medusa kept her from plunging into the Rift when they were first exiled. “Do you want the soul I brought for you?”

“Is that what I said I want?” Medusa lets the annoyance show in her voice, and watches the fear work on the witches’ faces.

“A witch told us you let out all of the souls Arachne had,” says Rena, the eagle witch, rapidly. “That Crona led them and a bunch of beasts across the Rift.”

“Ah.” She lets the sound drag out, scrape across the clearing, and claw against their eardrums. “You think I’ve gone mad.”

“No, that’s not what we think at all,” Cadme stammers. “We just thought-”

“That was your mistake, wasn’t it?” On another occasion, she would have killed one of them as an example, but she needs them. “And yet, you still brought what I asked for, so I forgive you.”

Cadme wavers for an instant, then darts forward to place the strap of her bag in Medusa’s hand. The soul isn’t more than a few days old; harvested in its core form, it will only last a day before rotting, but the potion she’s making will keep it preserved.

“If I can ask,” Titula says, unable to keep the hunger off her face, “what do you plan on using the soul for, sister?”

“You may.” For a moment, Medusa reconsiders her decision to spare the witch. “It is an offering, of sorts.”

“An offering?” questions Cadme, slightly bowed in respect.

“For the kishin soul among us.”

“A kishin soul?” Rena repeats. “But Asura-”

Titula covers Rena’s mouth with her hand. “Fool,” she hisses. “You do not invoke his name here.”

Medusa steps forward, and the witches fall silent. “This kishin is more pliable and much more powerful.” She points to the Rift, to the crack widening across it. “He pulls Earth closer to our dimension when he sleeps.”

Cadme lets out a soft gasp, eyes trailing to her bag. “Is he fully realized yet?”

“He will be soon enough.” Medusa’s finger traces the outline of the soul beating frantically on the outside of the bag. “And then he will bring the world back to us.”

**\-----**

Medusa fetches the bag she stowed away before her meeting with Cadme, Titula, and Rena. Its contents sway back and forth as she walks down the path leading to Mabaa's lair. Arachne had been clever in how she preserved the kishin's body in a cocoon far from where after she sealed away its soul, but Medusa had been smarter. It had taken Crona only minutes to find the body.

It takes an annoyingly long time to settle Mabaa after the old witch spots Medusa, but the soul that Cadme brought helps placate her.

So does the sight of her stolen eye resting in the mouth of one of Medusa's snakes.

She explains her instructions twice, and lets the witch stroke her lost eye once, before Medusa leaves Mabaa with the kishin's body in the decaying hovel she calls home, spying the witch scrambling for her ingredients as she leaves. It's slightly bothersome to go to the old witch for help, but even she has to admit that no one mastered the art of weaving souls into bodies like Mabaa.

And a kishin isn't as powerful without a body, after all.

* * *

 

Soul escapes to the darkness almost nightly, where Maka waits for him. They talk, and he tells her what he sees, although it’s not much. The crack in the Rift is growing, but nothing else has happened. It’s been ages since Medusa left, and no other witches bother him. None of the monsters in Abeyance bother him either; they avoid him, hastening out of his way, although he caught a pair of foxlike eyes following him once.

Even when the conversation dries up into silence, he doesn’t leave, spending the hours until Maka has to wake up floating in the darkness with her, making pretend constellations out of the thousands of invisible souls rushing across the boundary of life to death. He wonders if he could make that journey if he tried, although, deep down, he knows his soul is rooted to Abeyance.

He pays for the time he spends with Maka by waking up with a vicious hunger that leaves him curled on the ground, and brings the feeling when he attacked Medusa to the surface of his being, though the hunger never touches him when he’s in the dark. But even though he knows the spikes in hunger aren’t good, he can’t bring himself to care much about it.

Soul focuses on other things like getting rid of the snake following him, trying to ferret out the witches’ plan, going to see Maka.

But no matter how much he ignores the hunger and everything else, he can’t ignore how it feels like he is running out of time.


	10. Thanatophobia

**Noun; categorized as an overwhelming fear of death, the anxiety of one losing those they love, including themselves.**

* * *

**August**

* * *

“Do you know what a kishin is?”

Soul blinks as Maka’s voice snaps the quiet. The soft hush of the souls moving across the dark fades; he sits up, looking over at her. “No,” he says, although his answer feels like a lie somehow. “Why do you ask?”

“I was thinking about Masamune and some of the things he said,” she answers, sitting up as well. “Crona said it too, that they should have been a kishin.” She frowns, shaking her head, and meets his eyes. “It seemed like a strange name for Masamune to call you, I’ve never heard it before.”

“The witches disappeared thousands of years ago, didn’t they?” Soul’s not sure why the word makes him so jittery-he resists the urge to move away. “It could be a dead word they learned from the witches.”

“Maybe.” Maka doesn’t seem convinced, but she doesn’t say anything else.

“How is Tsubaki doing?” he asks after a moment.

“Pretty well for being possessed by her demon brother,” she says, returning to hovering on her back, hair floating loosely around her head like a halo. Her eyes close, and she raises her arm above her, then lets it drop to her side. “She talked about taking fall semester off, so she could have time to heal.”

“That’s smart.”

Maka gives a nod. “She’s strong.” Her arm sways out like a branch caught in a breeze. “She talks about Masamune more than she used to and lets herself cry.”

“I told her and Black Star about you,” she adds on suddenly. “Did I tell you that I did?”

He shakes his head, then realizes that her eyes are still closed. “No.”

“Black Star wants to meet you, they both do,” Maka’s hand is close enough to touch. “I tried drawing a picture of you to show them what you looked like.”

A snort escapes from Soul before he could stop it. “They probably think I’m Count Dracula’s cousin.”

Maka’s eyes open; she directs a scowl at him. “My drawing skills aren’t that bad.”

“If you say so.”

A small “hmph” is all she give in reply.

For a few minutes, quiet falls again. Soul can’t keep himself from glancing at Maka’s hand, which she hasn’t moved. They haven’t held hands or even touched by accident since Masamune; it’s something he shouldn’t miss, but does anyways.

“I think I’m waking up.” Maka sits up, a concentrated look on her face. “It’s weird, being here and also there.”

Soul frowns. “What do you mean by ‘there’?”

“Earth,” she says. “My body doesn’t come along during these trips.”

“And you can feel both of them at the same time?”

“Only if I focus hard enough, which I try not to,” she says, cringing. “It’s uncomfortable.”

“I guess there is a perk to having no body.” Soul stretches. “If you need to go, then go.”

Maka sighs. “I probably should. I have a check in with Marie and Stein,” she says, though she doesn’t make a move to leave.

Guilt enters his voice. “And nothing new to tell them.”

Her eyes widen slightly. “I wasn’t trying to make you feel bad; Stein’s made a map of Abeyance with your information, and knowing about the crack in the Rift is helpful.”

“But it’s not the same as finding out how...the witches are doing it.” His words fumble as he finishes his sentence; he nearly let Medusa’s name slip. He closes his mouth before he can say anything else-he hasn’t found the courage to tell Maka about his deal with Medusa yet.

“It’s enough.” The touch of Maka’s fingers on the back of his hand is light, gone in an instant. She’s firmly not looking in Soul’s direction when he looks up at her.

Soul swallows before he speaks, though his voice isn’t as steady as he’d like for it to be. “I’ll see you tonight?”

Her eyes meet his. “Same place as always.”

She disappears after that, like a rabbit in a magician’s trick. However, Soul lingers in the darkness, listening to the souls passing on and waiting for the scythe light, which joins him and Maka occasionally.

The light doesn’t appear this time, though, and without Maka, the darkness gets too quiet, so he leaves after a few minutes.

Hunger grips him as soon he comes back to Abeyance, ironlike maws that pin Soul to the ground and chew on his bones from the inside out. The only good thing is that the hunger is too paralyzing for him to act on.

It takes longer than usual for the hunger to ebb away, something that’s been happening increasingly often-more times than Soul would admit. He rolls on his side after the hunger pangs have dwindled enough, careful to avoid getting sand in his mouth. The desert is not where he’d like to be, but after nearly a month of fruitless searching for Medusa in the forest, he figures he might have more luck here.

The hissing of Medusa’s snake is absent as Soul rubs his eyes, which he finds odd-the snake usually tries to crawl onto him when he returns from the darkness.

“Welcome back.”

A strangled cry escapes from Soul’s mouth, eyes flying open to see Medusa’s feet in front of him. He scrambles backwards, then clambers to his feet. Medusa stands in front of him with a smirk on her face, looking the same as before, though she wears a cloak now. Although Soul spent so long looking for the witch, the urge to run rises so sharply that he nearly follows it.

“That isn’t a polite way to treat someone who has helped you so much.” She draws close in one fluid motion, her voice crawling into his ear as she sweeps behind him. “You still carry Maka’s scent, did you know that?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He spins around while he speaks, but the witch’s voice still comes from behind.

“You know exactly what I mean, but I haven’t come to argue about that.” Medusa comes into view as she slinks around Soul in a circle. Reaching within her cloak, she brings out a flask filled with a familiar golden potion. “I bring a gift as a peace offering.”

Soul eyes the flask with disgust. “I don’t need that anymore.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” the witch says as she comes to a stop in front of him. “You haven’t received the second part of my gift.”

“Something tells me that I don’t need it, but you can offer it anyways,” he says, mind working hard to find a way to fall into a conversation that would make her reveal something about her plans.

“This gift is a story, one you might take as a warning.” She begins circling him again, voice dropping low as she sweeps a hand to the Rift. “Have you ever wondered how witches were separated from Earth in the first place?”

He doesn’t answer, waiting.

“You’ve seen by now that not all souls are the same,” Medusa says as she passes in front of him. “Some are gifted with the abilities to commune with the dead, others can see the future, and then there are souls that can unleash fear and madness across the entire world.” Her gaze slides onto Soul’s face. “Those souls were called kishin. Witches occasionally used them to immobilize or shepard their prey.”

Revulsion rises in his mouth. “Why would anyone do that?”

“Because kishin hungered for souls as well,” whispers Medusa, bringing her face close to Soul’s. “Most of them never realize it, though. They usually became murderers, or went mad, never knowing what they were craving.”

Everything inside Soul turns cold.

“A long time ago, there was a kishin called Asura.” Medusa resumes her walk after staring at him for another moment, smirk growing. “He was more unfortunate than other kishin because he was born terrified of the world, but that may have been why he was so talented at spreading fear and driving people mad.

“Asura was discovered by a witch named Vajra; she sensed his power. She took him in, began feeding him souls to see if it would cure his fear, and for a time, it did.” Her eyes gleam with memories. “Asura could make entire towns quaking in fear, send waves of madness spreading through the countryside.”

He wants to move, to run- _anything_.

“But Asura’s paranoia returned; he became convinced that every witch, except for Vajra, was going to come after him to eat his soul. He covered himself in scarves, letting no one but Vajra see him.” Medusa stops walking, behind Soul again. “Vajra convinced him to go out one day, and took him to a gathering of all the witches, thinking it would help him to confront his fear, but she was wrong.

“Asura went mad, accused Vajra of betraying him, and killed her, the fool,” Medusa says. “Then he turned on us, laid down a curse on his soul and every other soul he ever ate, to trap us beyond death, starve us slowly.

“And it worked in a way,” she continues, a thoughtful look on her face. “The curse consumed his soul, sent us into what you call Abeyance, but it also poisoned Earth and created the Rift in front of death.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Soul’s mind is numb.

“Because you know what you are, even if you never had a name for it.” Medusa enters his vision, delight dancing in her eyes. “But it works differently here in Abeyance.” Her finger taps on his chest, then points to the crack slowly splitting the Rift in two. “You bring the Earth closer to you when you sleep.”

Medusa holds out the flask like before, and waits.

Several moments pass, then Soul’s hand wraps around the flask.

* * *

Maka’s truck comes to a stop in front of the entrance to the DWMA; she twists the key out of the ignition, feeling the engine rumble as it grinds to a stop. Flipping the visor down, she gazes at herself in the mirror for a moment, then lets out a loud exhale and gets out of the truck.

She passes by the ghost of an old lady standing in the middle of the street on her way to the DWMA’s entrance. “Excuse me, honey, could you help me?” the ghost calls to Maka as she heads up the steps to the door. “I think I’m a little lost.”

It’s been a long time since Maka has paid attention to a questions or pleas of a random ghost, but something about the lady reminds her of Mrs. Horschenblott, the first ghost ever who made her feel safe, and she pauses on the stairs. _Don’t answer,_ the voice of reason says in her head. _Keep walking._

Maka turns around.

“I’m sorry,” she says, “I-”

The rest of her words are cut off as a bus as transparent as the old lady careens into the ghost. They both disappear before the old lady can hit the ground; Maka glances up the street and spies the ghost walking to her death again.

Swallowing, she stuffs her hands in her jacket pockets, and climbs up the rest of the steps.

Marie is waiting for her in the lobby, hands clasped together in front of her. Combined with her all black outfit, she looks more like a preacher than a medium. Her face brightens when she sees Maka enter. “I thought you might come early.”

“I’m visiting my mom later so I wanted to check in before that,” she answers, keeping her eyes fixed on the black and white floor tiles as they pass under the aura mirrors, and Marie opens the door to the DWMA portal.

“How nice, how’s your friend Tsubaki doing?” asks Marie, holding the door for her.

“She’s better; there are some nightmares, though,” Maka says, unable to keep herself from looking up as she walks to the portal. To her surprise, the black-green of her aura has softened to a lighter shade of emerald in some places. She glances away before Marie can notice. “But I think she’s already survived the worst one.”

“I would agree with that.” The door swings closed as Marie follows Maka, draping them in complete darkness. “And how is Black Star?”

“Still asking to visit the DWMA again and be shown the place where you keep the X-men mutants,” she says, wading into the darkness. “He has a severe misunderstanding on how the DWMA works.”

“Clearly, though Kid’s more frequent visits to Orcus Hollow might help him correct that misunderstanding.”

“Black Star is stubborn and oblivious.” She is careful not to fall into the trap of lowering her guard-it’s hard to forget the way Marie looked at her after Soul left. “So it’s unlikely.”

“That’s unfortunate for Kid.” The light to her office looms ahead, one of the shortest portals Maka’s taken. “But he’s patient.”

They emerge into her office; Maka steps carefully over the piles of papers and files stacked on the floor. She glances at the huge map they’ve built of Abeyance over the past month, to the bottom of the map, which they have labeled the Rift, and points to a space about two handspans above it. “There’s a part of the desert that leads directly into the grove of cocoons,” she says, moving to the side to let Marie get to the map. “Soul also said there is no forest separating the cocoons from the Rift.”

Marie sketches this in, and checks the labels, redoing a few she is unhappy with. “There.” Looking back at Maka, she asks, “Anything else?”

“The crack in the Rift is looking wider,” Maka says, eyes trailing to the coffee cup resting precariously close to the edge of Marie’s desk. “Though only by a little bit.”

The medium nods. “Anything _more_ than that?”

“Soul hasn’t found a witch yet; he thinks that they might be avoiding him on purpose,” Maka admits. She peeks at Azusa’s office, visible from the doorway, and celebrates silently when she sees it is empty.

Marie’s eyebrows raise. “Do they know he’s passing information?”

"I don't think so. We're talking in an entirely different place than Abeyance," she says, turning to lean on the arm of a chair.

"Alright," Marie says, clearly trying to mask her disappointment. "We'll find out eventually, I suppose."

A pang of guilt nags at Maka as the psychic turns back around to study the map. Marie had released her from her duties in purification missions to train on perfecting her resonance and work with Soul, even though Maka knows that the psychic needs all the help she can get. It was a mark of how Marie was trying to make up for her distrust of Maka after the incident in the Rift, and it makes her feel bad knowing that and what she plans to do tomorrow night.

But not enough to change her mind. Letting out a deep breath, Maka gets up from leaning against the chair to join Marie, catching her foot around the leg of the desk as she does. She gives the desk a hard shake as she "stumbles", sending the coffee mug tipping to the floor.

“I’m so sorry,” Maka apologizes rapidly, the apology not just for the coffee seeping into the carpet.

“Don’t be, I shouldn’t have put my cup there.” Marie picks her way to the doorway. “Could you pick up any papers that got stained while I get some towels?”

“Of course.” She waits until Marie is gone before she takes her phone from her pocket, snapping several pictures of the map.

“I thought you knew taking pictures wasn’t allowed here.” Maka’s heart leaps in her throat as she whirls around to see Kid pausing in the hallway, Liz and Patti peeping into view from their guns in a flash of light.

“I wanted to some pictures to show to Soul.” She invents from the first thought that springs to her mind. “Get his opinion on it.”

“You can take your phone with you when you travel over to deathland?” Patti asks in amazement as she drifts closer to Maka to look at her phone screen. “Do you still get service?”

“Well, I can’t take my phone, but I can draw pictures.” Maka shoves the phone in her pocket. “But my memory isn’t so good, which is why I took the photo.”

Kid frowns, clearly unconvinced. “Did you get Marie’s permission?”

“It’s a picture,” Liz interrupts. “Who needs permission for that?”

“Well-”

“I’m trying to save someone I care about,” Maka says suddenly. “That’s it.”

There’s a pause as Kid and Maka stare at each other, her heart pounding in her chest.

“Every time you need something in this building, it’s never there when you need it,” huffs Marie as she returns, roll of paper towels in her hand. Her eyes fall on Kid and the sisters, and she smiles, navigating through the crowded space to where the coffee spilled. “Hey, you three. What brings you here?”

“Seeing Azusa about an assignment,” he answers as the two ghosts chime a greeting. “”But then I saw Maka.”

The phone is a dead weight in Maka’s pocket; both Liz and Patti stop moving.

“We stopped to say hello,” he says without looking at Maka.

She hides her relief by looking at the spill, which Marie is attempting to mop up. “Well, that’s no good,” the medium sighs. “That’s what I get for not cleaning up.”

“We might be able to lift some of that out for you, if you want,” says Liz, inspecting the stain over Marie’s shoulder. “That shade of brown is hideous.”

Marie shakes her head. “Oh no, I-”

“We’ve never lifted up a liquid before,” Patti adds. “It would be a few minutes.”

Glancing over at Maka, Marie says, “We do have to go see Stein.”

“And it doesn’t look like Azusa is in, so we’d have to wait anyways,” Kid replies. He meets Maka’s eyes. “Though you should be more careful.”

“Getting organized was my New Year’s resolution, but obviously I fell off the wagon quickly.” Marie tosses the towels in the trash and rises. “Maybe after we’re through with whatever this is.”

She doesn’t seem to notice the tension in the room. “I’ll be right back.”

Finally, Kid looks away from Maka. “We’ll be here.”

Maka doesn’t let out her breath until they reach the elevator at the end of the hallway.

Inside the elevator, Marie sniffs her hands and makes a face. “I think I’m going to have to stop drinking coffee.”

“I thought you loved coffee.”

“ _I_ do, but the baby doesn’t,” Marie sighs.

“Baby?” That drives away the cycle of thoughts running through Maka’s head. “You’re pregnant?”

“I’m a little less than two months so I’m not showing yet,” says Marie. There’s a small, nervous smile on her face. “I found out last week, but I haven’t quite told everybody since I’m early enough to still participate in field missions, though Stein wanted to tell everyone.”

She blinks rapidly. “I didn’t know you two were in a relationship.”

“We tend not to publicize it.” The elevator doors open with a soft swoosh. “Although separating work from personal life is a challenge.”

“I can imagine,” Maka says as she steps out, straining in vain to see if she can feel the little soul in Marie. Her eyebrows furrow when she sees Marie hasn’t come out of the elevator. “Aren’t you coming?”

“There are a fair amount of chemicals in Stein’s lab that shouldn’t be,” Marie answers, hand going to her stomach. “I can’t risk it.”

“Right.” Maka nods, hesitating before adding, “Congratulations.”

Marie’s smile grows as the elevator closes. “Thank you.”

There is a loud clanging coming from Stein’s lab as Maka knocks on the door. She waits, knocks again when there’s no answer, and finally gives up, opening the door. The pieces of a table lie strewn across the path from the doorway.

She looks up and sees Stein holding her scythe. “Did the table attack you?”

“Collateral damage.” He points to a clear container filled with black blood on the floor. “I was trying to cut into that.”

She moves aside a large piece of debris with her foot as she heads towards Stein. “Why?”

“Testing out your scythe’s new capabilities,” he answers. “It should be capable of reaping any poltergeists that come your way with just your resonance, but there is still room for improvement.”

“That’s more than enough improvement for me.” Maka tugs on her gloves and takes the scythe as she joins him in front of the wreckage, glancing at the container. “Why couldn’t it cut through the black blood? It’s a liquid.”

“Maybe at first.” Stein picks up the container, unscrewing the lid and tipping it upside down.

Maka springs back. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” says Stein as the black blood remains in the container.

Tilting her head, Maka draws near him again. “It’s gone solid?”

“Completely.” Stein taps the container. “So have all my other samples.” Rather than sounding frustrated, he seems fascinated. “None of my tools can extract it from their containers, and nothing can get through the glass, let alone the blood.”

He goes silent for a moment. “It may be why you weren’t able to kill Crona when you battled with them.”

“Because an unkillable monster is what we need.” She deactivates the scythe and stows the cube in her bag. “What about the poltergeists Crona is infecting?”

“None have shown the same talent Crona has with black blood,” answers Stein, replacing the lid on the container. He walks away, gesturing with his head for Maka to follow. “Perhaps it has something to do with their rotting souls, or that they’re not built to use black blood like Crona is.”

“Built?”

“There are some properties that appear synthetic in Crona’s blood.” He opens the door to his office. “If we’re going off the hypothesis that they are half-human, there is no way that they should be present in their blood.”

“Meaning their mother did this to them.” The couches in his office are still pushed together the way they were a month ago for Tsubaki. “Or she let another witch do it to them.” She perches on the edge of one, unable to keep the disgust out of her voice.

Stein settles in his chair, studying Maka. “You’re angry.”

“I am, and you should be too,” she retorts. “No mother should hurt their child like that.”

“They might have turned into what they are, without any help,” he suggests.

“That still doesn’t mean she should have made them worse.”

He cedes the point with a tilt of his head. “Learn anything new from Soul?”

“More about Abeyance geography, not much else.” Her impatience to leave returns, though she tries not to show it. “He’s still searching for a witch.”

“It’s surprising he hasn’t found one yet,” he says, leaning back. In the more muted light of the office, the shadows beneath his eyes disappear. “I would have thought he would have met at least one.”

“There could be only a few left,” Maka replies defensively. She doesn’t mention the relief she feels when Soul reports the absence of witches; she’s not sure what she would do if he didn’t appear one night and left her to assume the worst. Internally, she gives herself a hard shake, and shuts the thought out of her mind. “Besides, we don’t know how large Abeyance is. It could take a while to find a witch.

“But I did remember something and I had a question about it,” she says, changing the subject quickly. “I’m not sure it would help with anything, though.”

“The last time you had a question about something, it resulted in you bringing a demon in my lab,” Stein says, pulling off his glasses to examine them. “I’m sure it can’t get much worse than that, so go ahead.”

“Well, it has something to do with that.” She pauses. Whenever she tries to remember her and Soul’s encounter with  Masamune in the darkness, the images are hazy,still coming to her in bits and pieces. “When I saw Crona in the dark, they said they should have been a kishin,” Maka says. “It was a word I hadn’t heard before, and I was wondering if you knew what it meant.”

Stein goes silent for a long moment. “A kishin,” he repeats finally, replacing his glasses on his face. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” she answers, the unease in her chest growing. She’s glad she didn’t mention that Masamune called Soul a kishin. “Do you know what that is?”

“Not exactly,” he says, rising. He turns and scans the cabinet stuffed with books behind his desk. “They’re more of a myth than anything else.”

“Why do you say that?”

“The DWMA has never been able to confirm their existence; not that we tried much, with everything else we do.” He pulls out a thick book and sits back down, searching through the pages until he finds what he’s looking for, then pushes the book towards Maka. “This is an illustration of an old folk rhyme.”

Maka peers down at the page. The picture is faded, but she can see that it’s set in a village square of some sort. People are gathered on their knees around a figure floating in mid-air. Her eyes trace over the fear mirrored on each person’s expression, then move up to the figure. Black hair hangs in his face so she can’t make out his eyes, although his mouth is open in an eternal scream.

Her gaze lingers on the jagged points of his teeth.

“Read the caption.” Stein’s voice startles her out of her trance, and she looks at the bottom of the page, studying the short description.

_The Kishyne Most Fearsome. Artist Unknown. This illustration depicts a popular legend dating back to the eleventh century of a monster disguised as a human who would infect the souls of others with fear before eating them._

Maka reads the caption one more time, then closes the book. “So a kishin is like a demon, then.” She’s not sure what she’s feeling, only that she wants to get out of here.

“Not precisely,” Stein replies. “Humans born with the capacity to become demons don’t always become demons-a witch needs to change them-while a few other legends indicate that a person born with a kishin soul always becomes one.”

He becomes quiet for a moment. “Based on what Crona said, it seems like their mother tried to make them a kishin.”

“It’s good that she failed, then.” She clasps her hands to keep from fidgeting. “And that there are no kishin around.”

Stein’s gaze moves to rest on her face. “I suppose it is.”

Maka holds his stare for a moment, then gets up. “I guess that answers my question,” she says, sweeping her hair behind her shoulder. “Marie told me about the baby. Congratulations.”

“Thank you.” The suspicion in Stein’s voice remains, but his expression warms a little. “We’re looking forward to it.”

Her smile is only partly forced. “I’m going on a trip the day after tomorrow,” she says, making her way to the door. “I won’t be in Orcus Hollow then, or most of the day after, so I’ll check in when I come back.”

“Call if you find out anything else,” Stein says. “And be safe.”

Maka turns, smile dropping from her face. Her heart is racing so fast that it feels like it’s going to come out of her chest. “I will.”

* * *

By the time Maka reaches Orcus Hollow, she has managed to mostly compose herself, although her hands still tremble as she parks in front of her mother’s house. If she hadn’t promised in advance to visit Kami today, she would have gone straight home to sleep and talk to Soul.

In her head, Stein’s words replay while the image of the kishin plasters itself in her vision.

“It’s not possible.” She doesn’t realize she’s talking until she feels her lips move. A tightness constricts in her throat, accompanied by a stinging in her eyes. Her nails pinch into her palms as she takes a deep breath, then another, holding it until her heartbeat has gone back to normal.

Kami answers the door as soon as Maka steps back from knocking. “Hey.” She’s wearing one of the old tie-dye shirts they made together when Maka was in third grade, and her hair is tied back in a ponytail, strands of hair sticking out.

The sight is completely unlike the neat appearance Kami usually keeps, pulling Maka out of her thoughts. “Sorry, I know I’m early.”

“No, it’s fine.” Kami steps back to let her in, pushing the stray hairs out of her face. “Come in.”

Maka looks around as she enters the house; her mother bought one of the small cottage style homes in the middle of Orcus Hollow, a few streets away from Maka’s school. It’s not something that she’d ever imagine Kami buying, who prefers everything sleek and modern.

“I’m the one who’s sorry for the mess, I was supposed to be done with this last week, but then the art dealer called with another emergency,” Kami says, gesturing to the pile of boxes in the living room. “You can sit while I unpack and then we can eat lunch.”

She glances to the kitchen across the living room-the microwave is still sitting in its box on top of the counter, along with three boxes labeled “dishes”. “Are you planning on cooking?”

“If calling for pizza means cooking, then yes.” Kami grabs a box, and lowers it to the floor with a small groan. Rubbing her hands, she looks at the boxes. “I doubt I’m going to be finished with this before our trip.”

“Maybe you can with an extra set of hands.” Maka pulls her hair into a ponytail. The promise of a distraction is welcome, numbing her thoughts.

Kami shakes her head, frowning. “I didn’t ask you to come over to do chores.”

“It’s not a chore if I want to do it.” Crouching down, Maka opens the box and pulls out the white and gold curtains peeking out from the top. “Do you want to hang these here or somewhere else?”

Giving her a look, her mother sighs, then smiles. “Those are going in your room, actually.”

Maka lowers the curtains. “My room?”

“I mean, it would be your room, if you ever decided to stay here,” Kami says quickly. “It’s only if you want to.”

It’s a question that requires an immediate answer, but Maka doesn’t speak right away. Everything rises in her, all of the hurt, all of the pain of hoping and losing. She’s lost too much, too many times, and above the pain and the anger is fear, a feeling that no longer needs to hold onto her because now she is the one who won’t let go.

Her gaze trails from the curtains to Kami, focusing on Kami’s shirt, not her face. After Kami left, she figured Kami would have gotten rid of everything from her old life. It hasn’t felt this nerve-wracking to look at her mother since she came back, like she’s going to die.

_And yet, you survived that,_ a voice whispers in her head. _And everything else._

The silence in the living room continues for another minute; then Maka lets go of the breath she was holding, along with everything else.

“Yes,” she says. “I’d like to.”

* * *

The sun is beginning its trek below the horizon by the time Maka turns into the driveway leading to her home. She’s surprised to see that her space is already occupied, then she recognizes Tsubaki’s jeep.

She parks next to the jeep, and starts as a voice assails her ears from the porch. “There you are!”

Black Star leaps up from the porch seat, Tsubaki following suit. “Where have you been?” he demands.

“At my mother’s,” she answers, giving him a strange look as she climbs the porch stairs. “Why are you here?”

Tsubaki steps forward to greet Maka with a hug. “We just wanted to-.”

“We came to talk you out of your suicide mission,” interrupts Black Star loudly, his glare digging into Maka.

Shushing him, Maka pulls away from Tsubaki to stare daggers at him. “The window is open and my father is home,” she hisses. “Lower your voice.”

Black Star continues to glare, but his volume drops. “I would tell your dad if he wouldn’t think I lost my marbles.”

“How lucky for me.” She steps back, looking at Tsubaki. “Does he even know you’re here?”

Tsubaki nods. “We told Spirit we wanted to wait out here to see you.”

“Well, you’ve seen me,” Maka says, directing her reply to Black Star. “Now you can go.”

“Did I hear my name?” Spirit’s head peers out of the porch window, gaze falling on Maka. Did you enjoy your time at your mother’s house?”

“Yes, but it’s been a long day,” she says, hoping at least Tsubaki will take the hint. Now that light is falling and night is rising, her nerves from earlier resurface, and the only thing she wants to do is go to sleep.

However, Spirit seems to read her mind, and does the exact opposite. “It’s been so long since you’ve eaten here,” he says to Black Star and Tsubaki. “Would you like to stay for dinner?”

Hesitation crosses Tsubaki’s face, but Black Star speaks immediately. “Yes, that would be wonderful,” he says, giving Maka a look of triumph, who has no choice but to chew on her tongue as Spirit opens the door and lets Tsubaki and Black Star in.

Dinner seems to drag out for an eternity; Maka watches as the blue of the sky melds into orange mixed with purple. She hardly participates in the conversation, except when she’s asked a direct question. Tsubaki has the grace to cover for her when she doesn’t answer, although a comment from Spirit pulls her out of her thoughts.

“So have you met this boy Maka is pining over?” he says to Black Star and Tsubaki at the end of dinner. “She refuses to tell me who he is.”

Maka chokes on her drink, sending lemonade spraying across the table. “Papa,” she manages to say before coughing so hard that she nearly hacks up a lung. Distantly, she is aware of Tsubaki patting her on the back.

“I didn’t know you liked anyone,” Black Star says as she gets a hold of herself again. He lets out a yelp, and gives Tsubaki a look. “Why’d you kick me?”

“It’s fine, it’s fine.” Spirit raises a hand, rising and picking up his plate. “I get it, I’m not supposed to know.” He heads to the sink, calling over his shoulder, “I’ll clear the table, don’t worry about it.”

Without looking at either Black Star or Tsubaki, Maka walks out of the kitchen and heads for her room, feeling them follow with her perception.

“You _like_ him,” says Tsubaki as soon as Maka closes the door. “I was wondering after you told us about everything.”

Black Star is still confused, brows furrowed together. “Who is ‘him’?”

Tsubaki directs a look of pure disbelief at him while Maka wishes for a hole to appear and swallow her.

“Wait.” Realization dawns on Black Star’s face as his gaze swivels from Tsubaki to Maka. “You’re in love with the ghost?”

“It’s not the only reason I’m traveling to Abeyance.” She takes a seat on her bed, pulling her legs up and crossing them.

“But it is a big reason,” says Tsubaki, joining her. “Isn’t it?”

“I know nothing could ever happen,” she says quietly after a moment.

“No.” Tsubaki’s expression is sad. “But it doesn’t change your feelings, does it?”

“Liking a ghost is strange, but it’s not the weirdest thing that could happen,” interjects Black Star, pacing back and forth. “The thing we should be talking about is the fact that you’re planning to cross the literal rift between life and death tomorrow night.”

“And what would you do if that was me or Tsubaki over there?” Maka’s temper snaps. “Leave us to rot?”

“Obviously not.” Black Star recoils like she’d slapped him. “But didn’t you say he chose to leave?”

“I also said that it wasn’t something Soul wanted to do.” She ignores the twinge of pain in her chest. “It’s not enough to talk to him in my dreams, I need to see him face to face.”

This only stymies Black Star temporarily; Tsubaki has turned oddly silent. “And what about the fact that you’re probably going to die? Have you thought about how that would affect us or your parents?”

Maka looks down, refusing to acknowledge his point. “I’ve survived things that have come from Abeyance, including the time I died and wound up there,” she replies. “Which I wouldn’t have, if Soul hadn’t risked his life for a complete stranger.”

“And if you go all that way and he still refuses to come back?”

That makes her voice dry up into nothing. “Whatever happens, I have to try; you’re not going to change my mind,” she says finally. “If you try to stop me, I’ll just leave now.”

Black Star stares in shock for a moment, and then rounds on Tsubaki. “Why aren’t you saying anything?”

She looks from him to Maka. “Because, while I don’t like it, I agree with Maka.”

“What?” Black Star turns blank, like he’s been suckerpunched in the gut. “How could you agree with her?”

“Masamune.” Tsubaki’s voice wavers, and she closes her eyes for a moment. “What he did almost killed me, but it made me let him and my guilt go, which I wasn’t doing,” she says. “That would have killed me, too.”

She reaches out to clasp Maka’s hand. “Do what you need to do.”

A weak laugh escapes from Maka, and she looks at Black Star, who throws his hands up in the air.

“Do guns work over there?” he asks. “Sid has a few, I could probably take one without him noticing.”

This time, Maka laughs hard enough to chase away the tears on the verge of falling. “I doubt they would do much,” she says when the last of her laughter dies away, hiccuping once. “Thank you, though.”

Tsubaki squeezes her hand. “Just don’t die.”

* * *

The tiny sphere of light immediately zooms to Soul’s face as soon as he enters the darkness. It floats close to his cheek for a few moments as he tries to convince himself he did the right thing by coming, then flits over to where Maka is hovering.

A sinking feeling drops into his stomach as soon as he sees her face. “What?”

“I know why you left,” she says. Her face is unreadable as she moves towards him. “I understand why you became distant and what happened in the Rift before you went to Abeyance.”

He didn’t know his world could fall apart so quickly. Everything that Medusa told him seems far away. He tries to find his voice, but there is nothing he can say or do to change reality. Maka says nothing, either; she just treads there in the darkness with him. She’s only an arm’s length away, but he’s never seen a space so vast between two people.

Finally, Soul speaks. “So why don’t you leave then?” He doesn’t recognize his voice, it’s disjointed and too harsh.

She starts. “What?”

“You heard me.” He’s never hated anything more than he hates himself. “You know the truth, so go.”

“I-” A mix of anger and something else lights on her face. “That’s not why I told you that I know,” she says. “I want to help you.”

Her words are worse than her actually leaving.

“There is nothing to help, and there’s nothing to save.” He should move, leave, and gulp down the potion, but he can’t find it in himself to move. “All that’s here is nothing.”

“Well, I don’t believe that.” Maka seizes his hands; her skin is a pyre, but he’d let her burn him to ashes if he could. “You weren’t being fair when you left, and you’re not being fair now.” Her gaze rakes over his face, and he meets it, in spite of himself. “I know who you are, not what your soul is.”

Maybe he is burning.

Something shifts in her face, and her grip loosens. “You stayed through everything with me, so I’m doing the same with you.”

An ache resonates in Soul’s chest, cutting through the heat consuming him and freeing his voice. He allows his eyes to trace Maka’s face one more time before he speaks.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, hands slipping out of her hold and wrapping around her wrists. He reaches through their link, all the way down to Maka’s soul on the other end. It pulses so loudly in his head that it could be his own heartbeat. “But you can’t.”

He pushes Maka out of the darkness, pushes until he can no longer feel her at all. His stomach heaves when she’s entirely gone, even though there’s nothing to throw up. He doubles over, and stays like that for a long time.

_It was going to end, anyways,_ a voice tells him, but he shoves it away.

Soul only realizes that his eyes are closed when the light presses against his eyelids, opening them to see the tiny sphere hovering in front of him. It doesn’t move, nor does it transform into the scythe when he cups it in his hands.

“Please.” His words are barely above a whisper. “Show me something.”

It’s like the light has been waiting for him to speak to it this entire time; the sphere shoots forward, then pauses, waiting for Soul like the first time it came to him.

The light takes Soul ahead in the darkness in a straight line. Unlike last time, it does not slow for him; its speed increases the longer they trek in the darkness, like it’s impatient to reach wherever it is taking Soul. He follows the light for what feels like an eternity; exhaustion is lapping at his arms and legs when the sphere finally comes to a halt.

Soul rests for a minute before he draws closer to the light. It bobs in place, waiting for Soul before it rushes forward suddenly. However, the light doesn’t move any further than where it is, no matter how much the light pushes.

Frowning, Soul reaches out and feels his hand hit something solid. He squints-the darkness continues beyond where he is, but there is something invisible blocking the way. His hands rove across the surface, looking for purchase somewhere, but the boundary is as smooth as glass.

Putting both hands against the surface, Soul pushes again, and finds that the surface is not as solid as he thought-it gives as he presses hard. Swallowing, Soul braces his feet like he’s balancing on the side of a cliff, planting his hands further apart before he shoves forward with all of his strength.

He lets out a yell as the upper half of himself moves through the boundary. Panic rises as he finds that he is stuck, and he struggles to free himself when a howl pierces the darkness. Freezing, Soul looks around carefully; the darkness here is just as thick, but it has lost any warmth, sending chills running up his spine as he recognizes where he is.

The Rift.

It confirms at least part of Medusa’s story, but Soul’s main concern is leaving as quickly as he can. Before he can move, however, the same howl cuts through the dark again, and a pair of hands clamp around Soul’s.

An old man with grey eyes stares at Soul. A faint rotting smell comes from his soul, but he isn’t a poltergeist yet. “Help me,” he rasps as the howl sounds again, much closer this time. “Please.”

There isn’t much room to refuse, the man’s hands are like a vice. Soul yanks the man and himself backwards as hard as he can, but his body only moves a few inches back into the darkness.

Gritting his teeth, Soul digs his feet against the boundary between the darkness and the Rift, feeling himself move back across the boundary while the old man only makes it to his middle. Soul shakes the man’s hands to get his attention, seeing the ripples signifying something is coming from the Rift. “You need to push.”

He doesn’t hear if the man acknowledges him or not-the howls of whatever is hunting the man are clear right through the boundary. Without thinking, Soul reaches for the light, feeling it transform as he shoves himself through the boundary. He only registers a sea of jagged teeth as the scythe swings above him in an arc and hits home.

The monster recoils, letting out an unearthly screech as it wrests itself free from the scythe and scuttles away.

Yanking himself back into the darkness, Soul drops the scythe and hooks his hands underneath the old man’s shoulders, letting out a groan as he pulls the man free.

Releasing him, Soul hunches over, trying to control the shaking wracking through him, and manages to croak out, “Are you alright?”

Relief washes over the old man’s features. “Yes, I think so,” he says, moving forward to extend out his hand. “Than-”

The old man vanishes in the middle of his sentence, here, then gone.

Soul lets out a cry, expecting to hear the howls of the Rift monster, when the faint outline of a soul appears where the old man was. It lingers for a moment, and then the old man’s soul disappears for good, joining the invisible sea of souls rushing past the darkness.

Moments stretch out into minutes as Soul continues to stare at the spot where the man was, feeling his world upend for the third time that day.


	11. Moribund

**Adjective; to the point of death.**

* * *

 

Maka is staring at her ceiling when her alarm goes off, the beeping adding to the headache building in her temples. Reaching over without looking, she smacks her phone and hears it fall from her nightstand.

The alarm continues to nag at her from the floor.

Grinding her teeth, she flings her covers away, and sees them join her phone on the floor. Biting back her scream, Maka scrambles out of bed and snatches the phone from the ground, poking the screen violently until the alarm goes silent.

Balling up her blankets, she dumps them on her bed, then goes to her door, listening hard for Spirit before she opens the door and goes into the hallway. When she enters the bathroom, she avoids looking at herself in the mirror until after she’s washed her face.

The whites of her eyes are still very red, faint shadows blooming underneath, and her entire face looks washed out. If she goes downstairs looking like this, Spirit won’t leave her alone until she talks, and then she will break entirely.

“It doesn’t matter,” she whispers to her reflection, hands curling around the edges of the sink. “I’m still going.”

She repeats this to herself over and over as she gets ready, and by the time Maka is finishing tying back her hair, she has managed to mold herself into the semblance of appearing normal.

Spirit gives her a smile that turns into a yawn as she enters the kitchen. “I see we’re both up and ready to go today.”

“I have some errands to run,” she replies, taking a bowl from the dish rack and squeezing Spirit in a quick hug. “There are some things I’m missing for the trip tomorrow.”

“What are they?” asks Spirit, gaze fixed on the newspaper in front of him as he sips his orange juice. “I could stop by after work and get them for you.”

“It’s alright, I need something to do.” She opens the door to the pantry, taking out a box of cereal. “I might make a day of shopping since school is coming.”

Spirit lets out a light snort. “You are the only one I know who has looked forward to school starting again.”

“Well, learning is fun and it keeps my mind occupied.”

There’s a slight rustle as Spirit lowers his paper. “Occupied?”

“Yeah, I’m not sure what I would think about if I didn’t have school,” she says, joining him at the table. It’s a lie, but only a small one. “I’d probably daydream, I guess.”

“About the boy I’m not supposed to know about?” Spirit’s tone is teasing, but his smile fades when he looks at her face. “Maka?”

“I’m sorry,” he says awkwardly when she doesn’t answer. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“It’s not you.” She doesn’t know why she chooses to answer instead of staying silent. “We’ve finally talked.”

“Oh.” She keeps her gaze on her cereal, but she can tell Spirit’s eyes are bugging out of his head. A beat passes as he struggles with himself. “And?”

“He feels the same way,” she says, thinking back to the moment before Soul forced her out of the dark; she’d felt everything in him then.

 _“Oh.”_ Spirit is quiet for much longer this time. Finally, in a voice that cracks, he says, “Isn’t that good?”

She has to pull the words from her throat this time. “It would be if he thought we should be together.”

Curiosity mixed with relief enters Spirit’s words. “Why does he think that?”

There’s no easy generality she can fix this part in. “It’s complicated.”

“Relationships often are.”

She dares to lift her gaze to Spirit, who suddenly twists closer to Maka. “Wait, he isn’t rejecting you because you’re less popular than him or something, is he?”

Her eyes go back to her cereal. “No, Papa, it’s nothing like that.”

“Good.” The indignance in Spirit’s voice fades. “Otherwise, I would have had to pay him a visit.”

“Please don’t.”

After a moment, she adds, “Part of it is because he doesn’t think he’s good enough, I guess.”

Spirit takes a sip of his orange juice before he answers. “Well, you know I think no one is good enough for you,” he says. Reluctantly, he tacks on, “Though if you really like this boy, then he must be alright enough.”

“More than that,” she says, lifting her eyes.

“I’m going to tentatively take your word on that,” he says after a moment. “However,” Spirit continues, looking to Maka. “You can help people see what they are, but you can’t make them.”

Her eyebrows raise. “And that means?”

“You’re going to have to wait on him to come to his senses,” says Spirit. “Or move on,” he adds hopefully.

She rolls her eyes, but at least she’s not on the verge of crying anymore. “Thanks, Papa.”

“I try to be helpful,” he replies as he rises, pressing a kiss on her forehead. “But if this boy changes his mind, I would like to meet him.”

Narrowly, she bites off a humorless laugh. “Of course, Papa.”

* * *

Blair sways from where she perches on Maka’s shoulder, eyeing the spaces between the branches bobbing in the wind. “I don’t like coming to this place,” she repeats. “We should go.”

“You don’t have to be here,” Maka says, the wind carrying her voice away. She speaks a little louder, hoping the wind won’t be this strong in Silver Canyon. “You can wait for me here, if you want.” The ground is gradually becoming softer, and the trees are starting to thin, a sign they are almost to the swamp.

“There would be no point to me coming at all, then,” the cat says grumpily, settling back on her shoulder. “Blair made a promise.”

Maka snorts, but reaches up to scratch the area between Blair’s ears. The cat’s visited her nightly in the past month, clawing at the window to be let in so she “watch over her”, an insistence on the cat’s part that Maka indulged. And it has been comforting to have Blair curled up next to her when she returned from seeing Soul over the past weeks, softening the loneliness of leaving, although she hadn’t let the cat inside last night, something Blair is still miffed over.

“Your soul is dreary,” the familiar says as Maka walks.

“So?” She steps over a branch in her way, refusing to look at Blair. After breakfast, lethargy had settled over, which dulled her emotions and made it easy to semi-deny the truth, although it made doing anything difficult.

“Don’t get smart with Blair.” The cat’s tail flicks the air, her sign that she’s worried. “I thought you’d be excited to see scythe boy tomorrow. Or nervous.”

“Maybe when tomorrow actually comes,” she says. She has no energy to explain what happened. “Right now, I’m just tired.”

The space ahead of them opens up suddenly, and the swamp silently stretches out with open arms to Maka.

She trips to a stop, the fog in her head clearing as she takes in the grassy patches of vivid green dotting the glasslike surface of the swamp. Her heart is loud in her ears as her gaze falls on the broken tree stump that marks the remnants of Giriko’s house.

Maka’s chest moves up and down as she stares at the swamp; it’s ridiculous to think of a place as alive, but she can hear something beckoning her to come closer. Eyes flicking up and down the swamp’s expanse, she only hesitates briefly before drawing to the edge of the swamp.

“What are you doing?” Blair’s feet knead into her skin as the cat scrambles up.

“Nothing.” Maka comes to a stop just as the water touches the tips of her shoes. Giriko’s stump lies out directly in front of her. “I just wanted to see.”

_“Why?”_

Tugging on the hem of one of her gloves, Maka ignores Blair and reaches into her bag, taking out the scythe cube and squeezing it twice.

Although Stein just finished modifying the scythe to be lighter and more durable, it feels heavy in her hands. She holds it loosely, continuing to stare at the swamp. If she’s being honest with herself, she doesn’t know why she is here either. The urge to visit Giriko’s house, the place where she lost Soul, had risen up last night, when her eyes ached too much to cry anymore but sleep was distant, and the only thing she could be was alone in the dark.

From behind her, a voice says, “You have such a strange soul.”

Water sloshes into Maka’s shoes as she whirls around.

Crona stands a couple armspans away, hands at their sides. Unlike when Maka saw them in the darkness, their face is whole, although their hair is disheveled and their wings aren’t billowing out as usual, draping over them like tattered curtains.

The hair on Blair’s back stands up as the cat lets out a feral hiss, while the world crawls to a standstill for Maka. “You,” she breathes.

“I don’t understand it,” they say, a hand creeping to clutch the side of their face as they shake their head. “I don’t know how to deal with it.”

Anger burns away her understanding for them. “You made me lose him,” she says, a sob breaks on the last word.

Blair jumps from her shoulder with a yowl as Maka bolts forward, swinging the scythe down towards Crona’s stomach, but their wings sweep in front of Crona as she strikes. The tip of the blade hits the black blood with a metallic cling, sending reverberations through the scythe.

The wings drop back to Crona’s shoulders as Maka stumbles. “Oh, that’s right,” they say, their mouth the only thing left of their face. “Mother said to kill you.”

They shoot towards Maka with one sweep of their wings, and she feels rather than sees Crona hit her. She flies back and crashes into the water, stars sweeping across her vision. Water forces itself into her throat as her arms and legs flail, feet kicking into the soft silt of the swamp.

Maka scrambles up, choking as she struggles to find her balance, feet sinking into the ground. Distantly, she can hear Blair calling from the water’s edge, and she spies the scythe floating a few feet away.

Before she can lunge for it, a hand seizes the back of her neck and forces her under. Maka’s head presses into the silt; she presses her mouth shut, though dirt mixed with water still make their way in her mouth. Her lungs are screaming for air, along with the rest of her body, and she struggles to free herself from Crona

Their grip is like iron, unyielding even when her hand finds a rock and jams it into theirs. Darkness bleeds in the corners of Maka’s vision, while the rest is filled with memories of the reanimated corpse dragging her underneath the bog’s surface. In desperation, she reaches out with her perception, pulling herself to the twisted mass that is Crona’s soul and battering her resonance against it.

The effect is instantaneous: Crona lets go of her neck, and Maka drags her body from the bottom of the swamp, head breaking above the surface. She vomits water as she struggles to get away from Crona, lungs burning as she gasps frantically.

She only makes it a couple feet before she collapses, knees pushing into the swamp floor. The scythe is within reach, but her strength is gone; she fights the feebleness weighing down her arms and legs as she turns to face Crona.

The creature has become stock still, however; their face is back, arms wrapped around themselves. “What did you do?” they whisper.

Their voice is soft, like a scared child.

Maka isn’t sure why she reaches out a hand; she tries to speak. “Crona-”

“NO!” Their wings lash into the air, but instead of attacking Maka, they shoot into the sky.

She watches as they become a speck in the blue of the sky, waiting until they turn invisible to look away, and waiting even longer for Crona to return before she allows herself to move away.

* * *

Soul watches the golden potion swirl in the flask as he tips the glass back and forth. _Drink it_ , a voice that eerily resembles Medusa.

His hand tightens; he should have drank the potion as soon as he returned to Abeyance, but he didn’t and the doubt snaked in. Now, he sits in the shadow of the rock outcropping in the desert with the potion in his hands.

There is a storm raging in his mind; he can’t fix himself on a train of thought before he’s moving to another. Meanwhile, what he said and did to Maka circles his thoughts like a vulture-he doesn’t even know where to factor in his encounter with the Rift.

At the edge of the rock’s shadow, Medusa’s snake lounges on the sand, no longer slithering back and forth, evidently given up trying to reach him. A slightly murderous feeling rises up as Soul stares at the snake and remembers what the witch answered after he told her he didn’t believe her story about Asura and what she claimed about Soul.

_“You’ll believe it soon enough.”_

He shakes his head violently, although her words continue to echo in his ears.

“I won’t let it happen,” Soul says aloud. He uncorks the flask and holds it to his lips, then pauses. It doesn’t make sense that Medusa would give him a potion that keeps him from sleeping when that’s when he brings the world closer to Abeyance.

But if he goes on the way he is, he’ll eventually fall asleep again. Soul’s fingers drum an anxious tapping rhythm against the flask as his gaze finds the widening crack in the Rift.

Closing his eyes, he tips his head back and brings the flask back to his lips.

A wild chorus of laughter stops him from tipping the potion into his mouth; fear clamps over Soul as he spies several figures streaking across the desert in the distance, headed for the rocks. Scrambling to his feet, he hurls himself into the inner circle of the outcropping, panic increases when he hears the witches approaching.

Whirling around, Soul spies a crevice running down the middle of the largest rock. He sprints for it, wedging himself in and flattening against the rock just as the voices of the witches become clear.

“I can’t believe it!”

“Finally.”

“Where’s Medusa?”

“Here.” Soul gets a glimpse of the witch as the other witches surround her, clambering for her attention.

“Have you really done it?” a witch with red hair asks breathlessly, voice rising above the din. “Have you captured a kishin?”

Medusa simply raises a hand, not speaking until all of the other witches have fallen silent. “I don’t believe we are all here yet,” she says.

There is an outbreak of grumbling, but none of the witches speak against her. They whisper to themselves, tossing impatient glances towards the outside of the rocks.

A pitiful keening announces the last witch’s entrance. Soul doesn’t dare to move his feet, but he cranes his head as much as possible. This witch is nearly bowed over with old age; her skin is lined with wrinkles and so thin that he can see the weblike veins running up her hands. He can’t see her face, draped in darkness by the hood of a thick cloak..

She lowers the hood when she reaches Medusa, tufts of grey hair poking in all directions. Her face is as wrinkled as her hands, although it’s the empty eye socket oozing a clear liquid that roots Soul’s attention.

Her wails dry up, replaced by two words she utters over and over. “My eye,” she cries. “My eye.”

One of the witches detaches from the group as she places an arm around the old witch. “Don’t worry about that, Mother Mabaa,” she croons. “I’ll make you a new eye on Earth.”

Eventually, the old witch goes silent and looks up at Medusa, although her mouth continues to move wordlessly. Soul doesn’t miss the look of hatred on her face.

Medusa, however, pays the witch no more attention and turns to face the witches.

“It has been so long since we’ve been all together, sisters,” she says as she begins to circle the group like she did with Soul. “I wonder why you answered my call for a meeting now when so many of you laughed at my summons for the same reason last year.”

Silently, Soul counts the witches, then again.

Twelve.

“We had no evidence of the kishin,” pipes up a witch from the back of the group. “We could not lend you our demons or magic for something so unrealistic.”

Medusa stops moving at the edge of Soul’s vision, stare going cold.

“Of course, we were wrong,” stammers the witch immediately. “Which is why we are here.”

Medusa’s stare holds for another moment, and then her mouth curves into a smile. “ _Of course.”_ Her smile widens. “I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t witnessed it myself,” she says. “Which is why I called our meeting here, where none of us can use magic.”

“No tricks, no attacks.” She starts to walk again. “Just a gathering.”

A witch with foxlike eyes that Soul recognizes comes forward and bows slightly to Medusa. “What do we need to do, sister?”

“Over the past few months, I have gotten into the kishin’s confidence or close enough to it,” she answers. “I’ve been giving him a potion to accelerate his transformation. Now he is nearly on the verge of becoming a fully realized kishin.”

Instantly, Soul’s stomach heaves, and he clamps a hand over his mouth.

“However, I’ve recently lost his trust, although I managed to give him the last of the acceleration potion, which I laced with a sleeping draught,” Medusa continues. “He ran away, but I don’t believe he will get far.”

Her eyes rest directly on the crevice as she says this; he is sure she sees him until her gaze moves back to the coven. “Which is where I need you, sisters.”

“Find the kishin and trap him in one of my shadows,” says Medusa, her voice rising. “We’ll wait until his transformation is complete.”

Excitement breaks out amongst the witches, but the rest of her sentence rings out clearly.

“Then we will release the kishin across the Rift, and he will bring us home.”

* * *

A knock on the door shortly after breakfast announces Kami’s arrival. From the couch, Maka leaps to her feet, hampered slightly by her backpack.

Spirit laughs as he rises to answer the door. “Silver Canyon doesn’t have feet, Maka.”

Her face flushes, following him out of the living room. “I know.” From within her backpack, she feels Blair’s displeased meow at being jolted so suddenly, and coughs to mask the noise, reaching behind herself to give the backpack a sharp poke.

Kami greets Spirit with a small smile at the door, which Maka notices is not as forced as it was when she began visiting in April. “Hello.”

“Hi.” He gestures inside. “Would you like to come in? We still have some eggs left over from breakfast.”

“Oh, no thank you, I already ate.” Awkwardness crosses her mother’s face, but her voice is sincere. “Plus, the trip to the canyon is over two hours.”

“Of course,” says Spirit quickly. “Another time then.”

Kami’s smile widens, becoming softer. “Yes, that’d be nice,” she says before looking to Maka, eyebrows lifting slightly. “I haven’t seen you put your hair in pigtails since you were a little girl.”

It’s a comment that should have sent the past’s thorns digging into Maka’s heart, and she can tell by the way her parents freeze that they realize it too, but she just gives a shrug. “I like other hairstyles better, I guess.”

“They suit you well, but I still think I like the pigtails best,” Spirit says while Kami nods in agreement, their relief palpable.

“I’ll think about wearing them more often, then.” She swats at Spirit’s hand, trying to tug one of her pigtails, and ducks out of the door, impatience rising. “Can we get going?”

“That eager to leave your father, are you?” Spirit’s laugh is light as he and Kami follow her out to the driveway, but something in it makes Maka’s throat close. She’d claimed otherwise in front of Black Star and Tsubaki, but there is a very real chance that she may not be coming back from this trip.

“Not that much, I’m going to be back tomorrow, aren’t I?” she says, moving back to enfold Spirit in a hug.

“That’s right.” Spirit returns her hug. “Don’t forget to put on sunscreen.”

She rolls her eyes in spite of the tears brimming in them. “I won’t.”

Spirit starts to pull away, then he pauses. “Is there something moving in your backpack?”

“No.” Maka moves away quickly. “You must have jostled something in it.”

He’s frowning. “I could have swear there’s something pushed against my hand.”

“Well, that’s impossible.” She gives her backpack a slight jostle as she turns to Kami. Her eyes fall on the truck and small trailer attached to it sitting on the side of the street. “Did you buy that just for the trip?”

“Not just this trip,” Kami says, defending herself. “Future trips, too.”

They file down to the truck, where Spirit holds out a hand to Maka. “I can put your backpack in the trailer.”

“No, I got it!” Maka shrinks away, walking backwards to the trailer.

She opens the door to the trailer, and sets the backpack down. Blair’s eye glares at her from the small gap Maka left to give her air.

“I am never doing that again.” The cat squirms out of the backpack before Maka can unzip it all the way. “I will give up fish before I go back in there.”

“I’m sorry,” she hisses. “I didn’t  know she was bringing a trailer.”

The cat continues to glare. “You owe me fish for that.”

“We’ll go to the fish market in Moricio after all of this.” Maka straightens. “But for now, get comfortable,” she answers, closing the door before Blair can answer.

She rejoins Kami and Spirit. “All set.”

Her mother has a confused expression on her face. “It sounded like you were talking to someone.”

“I was making sure I had everything, I must have spoken out loud.” She squeezes Spirit in a one-armed hug. “See you in the morning.”

An odd feeling coils in Maka’s stomach as she settles herself in the passenger seat, hands clammy as she buckles her seat belt. She’s vaguely disappointed to see Spirit stayed behind at the driver’s side talking to Kami instead of following her, though it recedes slightly when Kami turns and he looks at Maka, giving her a smile.

The sound of the driver’s door closing brings her out of her thoughts. “I think we might be able to fit in a small hike before lunch,” Kami says, brushing her hair back as she turns on the truck. “What do you think?”

She summons a cheerful tone from somewhere. “That sounds great.”

With a nod, Kami puts the truck in gear while Maka lowers the window to give Spirit a wave as they pass by the driveway.

She watches him from the rearview mirror until the truck curves around a bend and her father disappears from view.

* * *

Soul counts all the way to a thousand before he eases out of the crevice. The flask hangs loosely in his hands as he staggers outside of the circle of rocks; Medusa’s snake has disappeared, a small miracle. He glances at the potion as he leans against the rock wall, then his stomach heaves and he doubles over, gagging.

He’d known that Medusa was lacing the potion with something else, his instinct told him so every time he drank the potion, but he’d been so desperate to contain the monster inside of him that he ignored all of the signs.

Composure comes back to him slowly, but as soon as he can stand upright, he yanks the cork from the flask and dumps out the potion onto the sand, watching the golden liquid meld into the grey of the desert. His hands shake as he drops the flask and moves towards the forest, eyes on the fissure of the Rift.

Irony tastes bitter on Soul’s tongue; for everything he’s lost to come to Abeyance, and for everything he’s gone through while he’s been here, it’s almost laughable that his only option is to go back to Earth.

His hands run through his hair, nails pinching into the scalp. The tiny shoots of pain clear away some of the haze in his mind, and Soul bites his lip as he focuses on the forest slowly growing into view. With the entire coven coming after him, he has very little chance of making it through the forest-he’s gotten lost in there too many times to count, and it’s hard to keep track of his distance from the Rift in the forest.

Soul runs his gaze across the forest line, searching until he sees the white of the cocoon grove tucked away in the distance. The souls sealed in the cocoons might be enough to mask his presence all the way to the Rift.

For another moment, Soul deliberates. Then, he begins to walk again, looking over his shoulder every few seconds. There’s nothing but the quiet hush of the sand underneath his feet, something that puts him on edge rather than setting him at ease. Measuring the distance to the grove with his eyes, he estimates that he’s no more than a mile out, which he can easily walk in a matter of minutes

“Going somewhere?” Soul raises his eyes to find Medusa’s snake has returned, and that it is not alone.

The witch somewhat resembles Medusa, her multi-colored hair are the shape of a scorpion’s pincers, twisting and turning on its own accord. Her mouth is bared in a cruel grin, and she takes a step forward, raising her hand towards Soul. “You belong to me.”

Soul kicks out as hard as he can, sending a cloud of sand shooting up between them, and bolts, feet pounding across the sand as he heads for the forest. Behind him, the witch cackles as she follows him, although he doesn’t dare look over his shoulder to see how close she is.

Underneath Soul, the sand becomes hard and more solid as the forest opens up. He plunges into the space between the trees, winding between branches and leaping over exposed tree roots. However, the witch does not let up, calling taunts after Soul as he runs. He ignores them, along with the exhaustion burning in his legs, fighting to move faster.

The witch’s laughter bounces off the trees, making it seem like she is everywhere. “Make sure your shadow is really your own!”

A low hiss pulls Soul’s attention from the forest in front of him; he gets a glimpse of Medusa’s snake, then feels his foot hook on a tree root in the same instant. His momentum sends him flying forward, and a loud crack resounds in Soul’s ears as his head slams into a rock.

Soul’s vision doubles as he stumbles to his feet, and immediately staggers back into a tree, sliding to the ground. He manages to turn his head sideways, groaning when he sees two copies of the witch approaching.

They both crouch down, and he lashes out feebly when the witch places a finger on his nose, crooning, “Caught you.”

 _There’s no escape._ Soul presses himself against the trunk, hand moving across the ground for a rock sharp enough to pierce his throat-he won’t let himself be taken.

However, the witch pauses, head twisting as she rises. Soul’s vision has cleared enough to see her expression turn confused. She frowns. “Mabaa?”

There’s an explosion of noise, and the witch lets out a cry as she is knocked off her feet and into a tree. A hooded figure walks slowly into view; their fingers splay out as the witch struggles to rise, sending shadows directly into the witch’s body.

The witch does not try to get up again.

Soul shrinks away and attempts to get to his feet as the figure turns towards him, but the pain in his head is too much to do more than push himself away from the tree.

The figure raises their hands, as if in surrender, then pushes the hood from their face. Recognition flashes through Soul, and he stares at the one-eyed witch in disbelief. “You?”

She presses a finger to her lips, miming people walking with her other hand, and his head whips around, sending a wave of dizziness rushing through him. Dropping his head into his hands, he fights the nausea coiling in his stomach. When it passes, he speaks, keeping his voice low. “Why did you do that?”

In reply, the witch points to the ground in front of her, where Medusa’s snake thrashes against one of the shadows she released when she took down the other witch.

“You hate her.” Soul’s hands drop from his head, pressing into the ground.

The witch nods vigorously.

“We have one thing in common, at least.” He glances back at the snake, then to the witch. “Is it okay for me to stand?”

Looking around herself for a moment, the witch nods again.

Gritting his teeth, Soul plants his hands firmly on the ground, and pushes himself to his feet. He sways dangerously, nearly losing his balance, but catches himself on the tree. His world spins in quick circles, and he shuts his eyes until the dizziness dissipates.

 _There’s no way he can get to the Rift like this._ A scream of frustration climbs into his throat-he was so close.

When he opens his eyes, the one-eyed witch is standing directly in front of him. He flinches, but the witch doesn’t do anything except reach into her cloak to bring out a tiny vial filled with a dark red potion.

“No.” He shakes his head, which brings back the dizziness. “I know what that will do.”

The witch’s whisper is gentle. “No.” She mimes drinking the potion, and putting a cover over him. Then she points to herself, and makes an ‘X’ with her arms.

He frowns, trying to understand her. “The potion will kill you?”

She makes a face that Soul takes as a no, trying again, although this time, she puts a hand over her eyes instead of making an ‘X’.

“It’ll hide me?” He starts when the witch’s face lights up and draws close to him, enough that he can smell her breath, stale and sour.

Quickly, the witch moves back; Soul eyes her warily. “Why are you helping me?”

Again, she points at Medusa’s snake, but then she taps the skin next to her empty eye socket.

Realization dawns quickly. “She took your eye.”

The hatred on the witch’s face is strong enough to snap bones. She looks down, then offers the vial to Soul again as she glances back up, the question clear on her face.

He hesitates-the smartest thing for him to do would be to find that sharp rock, but he can’t stop seeing Maka in his mind.

The potion is unusually warm as Soul takes the vial. He raises it to his face; up close, the liquid resembles congealed blood.

Swallowing hard, Soul uncaps the vial and gulps down the potion.

* * *

“Make sure that he makes it to the Rift,” Medusa says to Cadme, Titula, and Rena when Mabaa hobbles into her hovel, which Medusa has taken over for the occasion. “If any of the other witches catch him, it will make things difficult.”

The witches nod, filing out of the cave immediately, ignoring Mabaa as they pass her.

She doesn’t seem to care, however, hand opening and closing greedily as she approaches Medusa.

“He took it?” Medusa pays no attention to the hand in her face.

Mabaa nods, continuing to open and close her hand.

“All of it?”

Another nod.

“Very well.” From the belt around her waist, Medusa takes out Mabaa’s eye, holding it just out of reach. “How long for the potion to take effect?”

The old witch holds up a finger, and Medusa drops the eye into her hand.

“One day,” she breathes to herself.

Meanwhile, Mabaa cradles her eye for a moment, a smile cracking upon her face as she takes her eye and pushes it back into place.

* * *

Kami frowns at the burnt, gooey mess that is her marshmallow, shaking it from her stick. “Well, so much for that one.”

“You have to rotate the stick as you cook the marshmallow,” says Maka, cramming the marshmallow on her stick between two crackers and pulling it free. She holds the s’more in her hand, waiting for it to cool. “Otherwise you’ll burn it every time.”

“I knew I was forgetting something,” her mother says as she plucks another marshmallow from the bag and stabs it with her stick. She holds it at the edge of their fire, instead of plunging the stick into the fire’s center, like she did the first time.

“This is the most camping I’ve done in my life.”

Maka frowns. “You never went camping when you were traveling?”

“I went on some guided tours of the French Alps, but I was on the back of a horse, and was in my hotel by sunset.”

Tenatatively, she takes a nibble of her s’more, then takes a bigger bite. “That sounds like a lot of fun.”

“It was,” Kami answers; then a guilty look crosses her face. “I’m-”

“You don’t have to feel bad for talking about what you did while you were gone,” Maka interrupts, adjusting the blanket she sits on. She glances over at her mother. “I want to hear about what you did.”

There’s a brief silence before Kami speaks again. “Alright.” The smile is clear in her voice.

After a moment, Maka says, “Now I know why it took us two hours to pitch the tents.”

“The instructions also were not very clear.”

Although Maka laughs, there is something forced in it as she peers up at the darkening sky, which she has looked at more times than she has ever looked at the sky in a day. She watched it for the entire length of the car ride, and nearly tripped over more rocks than she can count during the afternoon hike with Kami.

Sucking a breath, she rips her eyes from the sky, and tunes back, pinning a smile to her face when Kami sets her second and third marshmallows on fire.

It feels like years pass by in the time it takes for Kami to finally tire out, and take Maka’s suggestion that they go to bed. She fights to hold onto her fraying patience as Kami insists on checking the stability of the tents again, in spite of Maka’s assurances that they would have fallen over in the nine hours since they put them up. They finally go to their respective tents forty five minutes later, where Maka spends the next hour listening to her mother toss and turn.

When the rustling noises in Kami’s tent go still, Maka’s heart leaps, but she doesn’t trust it, forcing herself to wait another ten minutes until her mother’s snores become even and regular.

Holding her breath, Maka rises carefully from her sleeping bag. Kami chose to pitch their tents side by side, so any noise made in Maka’s tent will not be muffled from her mother. She is grateful for thinking to keep the tent flap unzipped; she winces when the rigid fabric makes a small creaking sound as she shifts it aside and Kami stirs.

Heart pounding, she waits for Kami to snore again, clutching her bag to her chest and wedging herself through the gap, unwilling to push her luck. When she is outside, she rises, muscles aching for release, although she does not allow herself to stretch.

Every crunch Maka’s shoes make as she backs away slowly is a gunshot in her ears. Her heart hammers; she’s sure that Kami is going to leap out of the tent eventually, but the flap to her mother’s tent remains closed.

Once she rounds the bend a few dozen feet from their camp, Maka presses a hand to her mouth, and lets an exhale of relief slip through her fingers. Quickly, she extracts the reaper outfit that she checked out two days ago from Miss Maud, the armory’s keeper, with a forged note from Azusa.

The cold breeze winding through the canyon nips at Maka as she changes, but she ignores it, stuffing her regular clothes in her bag. She takes the scythe cube in her gloved hands as well, though she waits until she is further away to activate it.

Blair meets Maka at the spot they agreed upon while Kami struggled to assemble the tents on her own. “About time,” the cat says when she spots Maka, approaching her with a swish of her tail. “I thought you changed your mind.”

“That’s not happening.” She holds out her arms but the cat chooses to climb her leg, leaping up onto her shoulder with a well-practiced jump. “Where are we going?”

“I’ve scoped out a few places,” the cat answers. “The first one is nearby.”

While they walk, Maka looks the translucence of the Rift, as it cuts through the canyon’s main artery. Blair stops her in one of the slowly curving bends of the canyon, hopping down from Maka’s shoulder. “Here.”

She’s breathless as she watches the familiar pace up and down a short length of the Rift, creeping forward when Blair stops. For several moment, Maka watches Blair concentrate on the Rift, speaking when the cat’s tail twitches. “Is that it?”

“Does it look like it?” says the cat peevishly. “Magic is not quiet.”

Eventually, she turns back to Maka. “I’m not used to using my magic in such large amounts,” Blair says as she allows Maka to pick her up. “I think the next spot will be more successful.”

It is not, however, nor are the two places that follow after that.

“Are you sure that you can do this?” Maka asks when Blair’s attempts at the fifth spot end the same way as the first four, working to keep the panic out of her voice. She’s accounted for a lot of things on this trip, but Blair’s magic not working wasn’t one of them.

“Of course, I can.” The cat’s words are not as confident as they were in the beginning, but she puffs out her chest. “There’s one more place, I’m sure I can open the Rift there.”

She turns, and Maka follows, glancing up at the stars and sending a prayer to anyone who will listen.

The sixth spot Blair speaks of is in a narrow alley leading off of the main canyon; the Rift swings down the alley before it loops back abruptly to the main passage of the canyon. Maka eyes the way the walls narrow sharply, nearly coming together a few hundred feet in front of them. “Do we have to go much further?”

“No, it’s right here.” Blair jumps down from Maka’s shoulder for the sixth time that night.

With bated breath, Maka watches as a heavy concentration comes over Blair’s face. The air thickens as the cat whispers foreign words under her breath, and something invisible crackles loudly.

Abruptly, the noise vanishes, and the air returns to normal.

Maka’s heart plummets through her stomach, and out of her body.

“I’m sorry,” Blair says after a long, stretched out silence. “I can’t do it.”

Maka struggles to find her voice, to tell Blair it is okay, that she will figure out another way, but she can’t. Tears begin to well in her eyes, and she brushes them away angrily, speaking finally. “It-”

The rest of her sentence is drowned out by a series of screeches cutting through the air.

“Poltergeists,” she says, whirling around to face the mouth of the alley, throwing out her perception. There are at least seven in the horde, and too close for Maka and Blair to run.

“They must have been drawn to my magic,” says Blair, taking a few steps back.

Moving to the middle of the path, Maka holds out the scythe defensively, “You have to get the Rift open,” she says, flinching as the horde’s madness sings to her. There’s no way she can defeat seven poltergeists on her own while they’re infected with madness.

“I can’t!”

“Try!” Maka’s hands tighten around the scythe, flooding the surrounding area with light. Her glasses back at camp so she has to squint.

For a second, the air is filled with the same crackling energy, but then it fades.

The horde is at the mouth of the alley, screeches promising to the horde to be upon them in seconds.

“Blair!”

The air thickens; Maka feels the rush of energy in her own bones before a giant crack resounds in the dark.

Jamming Maka’s foot with her head, Blair pushes her forward. “Go!”

She whirls around and sprints for the hole ripped through the Rift’s translucence, making it through just as the wails of a poltergeist scratch against her eardrums.

Maka is filled with a falling sensation, even though she is running forward. The light of her scythe illuminates the space around her as she breathes in the familiar, heavy darkness.

She is in the Rift.

* * *

A strange feeling comes over Soul as he approaches the Rift, as though his insides are on fire, but the flame is cold. He assumes it is a side effect of the one-eyed witch’s potion, but it does not settle the unease in his chest.

He steps over a broken tree branch strewn across his path, looking over his shoulder every few seconds, but it appears that the one-eyed witch was true to her word. No other witch has found him since he drank the potion.

The worry locked around his heart loosens just a little bit, and frees his mind to focus on other things, his eyes drifting to rest on the Rift peeking through the spaces of the trees overhead. He’s not sure what he’ll do once he gets across, but he supposes that is a problem for future Soul to figure out.

Somewhere in the foliage to the right of Soul, he hears a branch snap. His head snaps to the right as he freezes and spots a pair of foxlike eyes staring at him.

A yell swells in his throat; he’s about to run when he notices the eyes have not moved. Heart in his throat, he takes a closer look: the eyes appear to be staring through him, and not at him. Eventually, the witch’s gaze shifts past Soul.

“He’s not here, Rena,” calls the witch as her eyes finally start to move, disappearing into the dark of the woods. There’s the sound of more branches snapping as she heads in the opposite direction. “Let’s search elsewhere.”

Soul listens for the witch’s footsteps to fade completely before starting to walk again. He moves quickly, not caring about any noise he makes, triumph turning him almost giddy.

Ahead of him, the Rift waits silently.

* * *

Maka pulls the scythe’s blade free of the Rift monster, shaking its blood from the blade as best as she can. Its blood is not as black as Crona’s, but it is oddly viscous, clinging to the blade. She gives up after a minute. “That’s disgusting.”

“Keep moving,” hisses Blair from her shoulder, eyeing the monster lying on the ground. “What if it have friends?”

“I kill them as well.” Maka holds the scythe out, lighting up the darkness better than the flashlight she packed away in her bag. It also seemed to deter some of the Rift monsters from coming close, although there were a few bold ones who saw it as a beacon for food instead.

“Perfect.” Blair presses into her shoulder. “And if one of them plucks me away?”

She pats the cat on the head. “That’s not going to happen.”

They lapse into silence as a shriek pierces the dark; it doesn’t sound like the cry of something who has spotted them-there is something human in the scream.

Abruptly, the scream cuts off. Disgust rising in her mouth, Maka quickens her step.

Her heart pounds in her chest the longer she and Blair go on without finding the other side of the Rift. She doesn’t remember how long it took her and Soul to find the other side in the swamp, only that it seemed much shorter.

Pushing down her fear, she glances at Blair. “Can you still feel the rip you made?”

“It’s still open,” the cat says. “Although I don’t know if the poltergeists are waiting for us.”

“We’ll deal with that when we’re coming back,” answers Maka. To her left, there is a ripple of movement, and she stops, waiting till it passes. “We’re just lucky they didn’t follow us in.”

Blair lets out a snort. “Only fools would come in here willingly.”

“I have bad news for you then.” Maka holds back a wave of excitement when she spots the wall of darkness ahead of them, more solid than the rest of the Rift, letting her elation flow when she presses her hand against the wall.

“We made it,” she breathes.

“Not yet.” Blair drops down from her shoulder, padding along the wall of the Rift until she finds a spot that she apparently deems acceptable.

Maka looks out for Rift monsters as Blair’s magic fills the darkness.

Finally, the cat speaks. “Done.”

Spinning around, Maka sees a forest peeking out from a hole in the Rift just big enough for her and the scythe to fit through. She ignores Blair swatting at her foot, demanding to be lifted up, and fits the scythe through the hole first, pushing it through to Abeyance. It’s a narrower fit than she thought, and the hole more like a tunnel than a hole. She has to let go of the weapon to be able to snatch Blair from the floor.

A cramped feeling pinches Maka as she wedges herself through the break in the Rift. She grits her teeth, moving forward at an agonizingly slow pace. Light tinted with grey filters through the tunnel as she reaches its opening. Blair wrests herself free from Maka’s grasp and she lets the cat go, fingers wrapping around the edges of the tunnel as she pulls herself free.

She tips out of the opening awkwardly, crawling forward on her hands and knees before scrambling to her feet.

The giant spiderwebs and maze of cocoons is nowhere to be seen; instead, Abeyance stretches out in an endless forest in front of them, outlined by a small strip of space where no plants grow where she stands now. Maka scans the area, glancing behind her at the Rift, then studies the mottled purple leaves hanging motionlessly from the trees. She digs in her bag for the picture of Abeyance’s map she printed out. It’s completely silent as she searches-she has no idea whether it’s a good or bad sign.

Finally pulling out the map, she scans the ground for Blair, finding her standing about ten feet away. “I’m not sure if we should search along the Rift or if we should start from inside of the forest,” she says, glancing at the map. “What do you think?”

Blair doesn’t answer, even when Maka calls her again.

Frowning, she looks over at the cat, lowering the map. “Blair?”

The cat still makes no answer; Maka follows her gaze to the trees, pushing out her perception.

A monster stands just outside of the forest, a curious look on its face as it scrutinizes Maka’s scythe in its hand and vaguely resembling Bigfoot. Its eyes are a bloody red, and the points of its teeth peek out from its mouth.

Maka tenses, stock-still, as the monster finally looks away from the scythe and directly to her. A rumbling sound builds from its chest, breaking free in an ear-splitting roar as it hurls the scythe away.

She runs.

* * *

Earth comes into focus as Soul looks through the gap in the Rift. It appears as if it’s only a few feet away, although he knows better.

His hands graze the mist unfurling from the Rift as he pauses. He never thought he would make it to the Rift, and now that it is yawning wide before him, uncertainty wells up. It’s impossible to stay here, but now he knows it’s inevitable that he’ll become the monster he was transforming into before he left Earth.

There’s a trembling in his hands Soul can’t stop; he bunches his hands into fists as he takes a step towards the Rift, swallowing hard.

Somewhere to the left of Soul, a scream rings out, familiar and foreign all at once. He freezes as recognition sweeps through him.

Maka.

 _A trick,_ his mind instantly corrects.

Still, he doesn’t move into the Rift, listening to the echoes of Maka’s scream fade into silence, eyes searching along the forest.

Looking back at the Rift, Soul stays frozen for another moment.

Then, he turns and begins to run.

* * *

Maka dodges the monster’s swipe, only to see the monster’s other arm swinging towards her, catching her directly in the chest.

A groan escapes from her mouth as she stumbles back. The monster’s hand nearly wraps around her throat before it recoils abruptly. Gasping for breath, she continues to backpedal as she sees Blair leap onto the back of the monster’s neck, clawing at its face.

She tries to weave around the monster, aiming for the scythe laying on the ground behind them, but it lunges in front of Maka with a roar. Her lungs burn with a sharp ache as she barely avoids running into the monster, tripping over her feet.

Blair is thrown from the monster’s face with a yowl, flying back into the forest.

Struggling to her feet, Maka’s gaze finds the approaching monster, its scarlet eyes fixed on her as another growl rumbles from its chest. Legs shaking with exhaustion, she takes a breath, summoning up any energy she has left.

The monster freezes, inexplicably. A perplexed expression crosses its face as it looks down, chest heaving oddly as the tip of Maka’s scythe bursts through. The monster’s gaze goes back to Maka before it falls forward, sending up a huge cloud of dust.

Maka’s thoughts are a jumbled mess as she squints through the dust for Blair before it dawns on her that the cat wouldn’t have been able to even hold the scythe. _I should run,_ she thinks, but she continues to peer through the settling dust, making out the outline of a figure, scythe still in their hands.

The dust clears, and the world grinds to a halt as she and the figure stare at each other.

Maka moves first; her body feels far away as she drifts forward. “Soul?”

* * *

Soul’s gaze runs up to Maka as he lets go of the scythe. _She’s here_ , he thinks. He’s unable to register anything else.

Herehere _here_.

Her eyes don’t leave him as she walks around the monster, moving like she’s in a dream. He can feel the thrum of her soul-not an echo, like how it is in the darkness, but a living flame.

Maka stops when she’s right in front of Soul, so close he can see the tiny freckles dotting her face. Her lips part, but she says nothing, gaze tracing over his face.

His voice has gone somewhere far away; he’s rooted in place as Maka raises a hand and brings it to his face, cupping his cheek. She presses her hand against his skin gently, as if he might disappear.

Her words are a whisper; he watches the way her lips move. “I found you.”

It’s a struggle to form a response. “I think I found you.”

A laugh bubbles from her mouth.

“How did you get here?” He isn’t aware that his hand has lifted up to cover hers.

Her head nods to the side, and he follows where she gestures until he sees the hole in the Rift. “I walked.”

His eyes go back to Maka, but a new voice interrupts.

“Yes, I’m still alive, thank you for asking!”

They both jump, pulling apart, as a cat streaked with dirt winds between them, throwing Maka a baleful look.

A jolt of recognition shoots through Soul. “You!”

“Me,” says Blair grumpily as Maka picks her up and begins to pick the leaves out the cat’s fur. She throws a look of disgust around herself. “I’m glad I got left behind when the witches left.”

“It’s very fortunate for all of us,” replies Maka, setting her back on the ground and picking up her scythe. She turns and wipes the blood off the blade on the monster’s body behind them; Soul catches a glimpse of other colors of blood, too, and wonders how many monsters she’s taken down today. When Maka turns back around, she can’t seem to make eye contact with Soul, mouth opening and closing a few times before she finally speaks.

“I know what you’re going to say, that you don’t want to come back.” Her words come out in a rush. “But I don’t think this is where you should be,” she says. “Even if you’re not with....” She trails off, hands tightening around the scythe before she shrugs, like she’s out of words.

“You should be on Earth,” she says simply.

“I’m going back.” The words are out of his mouth before he can think twice.

Shock wipes the stubborn expression off of Maka’s face; her mouth works for a moment, voice coming out slightly higher than normal. “You are?”

He nods, knowing he should have lied instead of telling her the truth.

Maka’s eyes are wide, still disbelieving. “But why-”

Her question breaks off as her head swivels towards the forest. Blair stiffens as well, then clambers up Maka’s leg and jumps onto her shoulder. “Time to go,” the cat says, anxiously peering into the forest.

By the look on Maka’s face and the nearby shrieks of laughter, Soul can guess what’s coming. He grabs her hand, giving it a tug. “Let’s go.”

Maka still looks towards the trees as they move away from the forest, a disoriented expression on her face. “There’s thousands of souls in them,” she says in a dazed voice. “How can they hold so many?”

Soul pulls her hand more insistently; the Rift is only a couple dozen yards away. “Come on.”

With another tug, Maka breaks into a run with Soul. They begin to sprint as the witches burst out of the forest.

* * *

Maka glances back as she and Soul skid to a stop in front of the hole in the Rift, feeling Blair leap from her shoulder and shoot inside.

The witches are nothing like she had imagined as they emerge from treeline, and would seem completely human if not for the countless souls writhing within them, screaming for release. The weight of so many souls pulls her perception apart, too much for her to shut out.

Soul’s grip on her hand is the only thing that grounds her; she feels him push her forward. “Go!”

Her heart hammers in her chest as she shoves the scythe, then herself, into the Rift unceremoniously. She falls to the ground of the Rift clumsily, scrambling to her feet and reaching back through the tunnel for Soul. “Here!”

His hand laces around hers just as one of the witches reach the Rift, yanking Soul back.

“No!” Maka wraps her other hand around his wrist, pulling with everything she has. She can see Soul kicking out, but the witch’s strength is greater than theirs.

She shrieks at Blair. “Do something!”

Maka doesn’t see what Blair does, but a paralyzing tension tightens around her just before a loud crack rents the air. Light hurtles past her, flooding the tunnel, and Maka lets out a grunt as she falls flat on her back; Soul comes flying out of the tunnel in a rush, crushing her to the ground as he land hard on top of her.

The angry screeches of the witches scrape at Maka’s ears, but she lets a laugh as she feels Soul stir. “Are you okay?” she asks.

“I feel like my leg was pulled out of my socket,” he groans, raising his head to look at her. He seems to finally realize where he is, and abruptly rolls off Maka. “Sorry!”

“It’s fine, you did almost die,” she says, getting to her feet.

“Again,” he adds, taking the hand Maka offers.

The smile on her face falters.

“Again,” she agrees in a quiet voice after a beat.

She starts as something jumps on her shoulder before realizing it’s Blair. “I’m not sure if you realize where we are, but it’s not ideal,” says the cat.

“Right.” Soul picks up her scythe, handing it back to her.

She notices the wince on his face as she takes the scythe. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, just trying to erase the feeling of that witch grabbing my foot,” he says, moving to stand next to her. “It’s unpleasant, to say the least.”

“I’d imagine,” she says, beginning to walk as Blair impatiently digs her nails into Maka’s shoulder. “What that the first time you’d seen a witch up close?”

There’s a slight pause. “Yes.” Soul glances at her scythe. “Where’d you get that?”

“Stein made it.” She runs her tongue over her lips, hesitating. “It’s not as good as the other one, but it does this.”

She squeezes the scythe, and it illuminates.

“You should have done that as soon as we got in,” says Blair as Soul’s eyes widen at the sight. “Or did you forget our trip over here?”

“I didn’t, and it’s lit now.” She pokes the side of the cat’s face with her finger. “Thank you for opening the Rift and taking me through.”

“Wait, you made the hole?” Soul leans over to look at the cat, then at Maka. “You planned this?”

“Well, my soul kept closing the holes I found,” Maka says defensively. “Using Blair’s magic was the only solution.”

“I’m assuming the DWMA didn’t approve of this.”

“You’d be right.”

A concentrated look crosses Soul’s face as he absorbs this information. “So if you could have, you would have come across on your own?”

She shrugs. “It wouldn’t have been that hard.”

“Not that hard?” His voice is incredulous. “Do you know how dangerous Abeyance is?”

“I do,” Maka shoots back, heat entering her voice. “But what did you want me to do? Forget about you?”

Silence stretches out for a long time. “No,” he says finally. “But you should have moved on.”

Her heart twists. “I guess that point is moot now.”

Soul doesn’t answer, and she’s grateful. She doesn’t want to have this fight in the Rift.

No monsters make an appearance as they trek across the Rift, although Maka can feel the harsh murmurs of invisible creatures flowing around them. Beneath it, she thinks she can make out with her perception the struggling souls of those who had the misfortune of wandering into the Rift.

“The darkness is around here,” Soul says suddenly, meeting Maka’s eyes as she glances at him. “The place where we’d meet.”

She frowns, curious in spite of herself. “How do you know that?”

“That light led it to me the other day,” he says, gesturing around himself. “I pulled someone out of the Rift.”

“You did?” Her eyes widen. “What happened?”

“He moved on.”

“Really?” Maka’s gaze flicks around her-she’d thought of it as separate from death, not as part of it.

Soul nods.

“I’ll have to find a way to share that with Azusa and Marie once we get back,” she says, more to herself. “They’ll be interested to know that.”

“We’re close,” Blair interjects, nose twitching. “I can feel it.”

“I’m gla-” Soul breaks off.

Maka turns to see him bracing himself on his knees. Alarm rises as she moves to peer anxiously in his face. “What happened?”

“I don’t feel right,” he gasps, as she wraps an arm around the middle of his back and helps him rise, letting the scythe in her other hand drag on the ground. “Like I’m on fire.”

“Do you think the witch could have cursed you?” she asks, shifting awkwardly to heft Soul’s arm over her shoulders as Blair jumps down. “I saw her saying something while she was pulling you back.”

“It was something else.” Soul puts nearly all of his weight on Maka, making her stagger. She grits her teeth, forcing them to take a couple steps forward. The scythe throws her balance off, and almost trips them both.

Maka looks to Blair, who immediately begins to lead the way. “And that was?”

Soul only shakes his head, a haze over his eyes. There is a pallor to his face that wasn’t there before, and his skin is ice cold.

Her muscles are screaming, but Maka pushes them into a lurching walk after Blair, using the scythe as a crutch. “You can tell me when we get to Earth, then.” She gives him a sharp jolt when he doesn’t answer, panic squeezing around her heart. “Can you hear me?”

Soul’s head lolls against her neck; he moves it up and down slightly, and she bites back a sigh of relief. “Good.”

They make it a few hundred more feet, panic continuing to prickle underneath Maka’s skin. Every few steps, she tells him, “We’re almost there,” but Soul’s nods are becoming weaker, his skin completely frigid that it numbed the part of her neck that his face rests against.

The shrill cry of a Rift monster sounds as the light from the hole in the Rift comes into view, rapidly drawing closer.

“Blair,” Maka groans.

“My magic is gone.” The cat circles around her feet, eyes darting back and forth. “I can’t keep the hole open, and protect us.”

“It’s okay.” Tears prick in the corners of Maka’s eyes; she tries to force herself to move faster, but Soul has become all but a dead weight. The hole in the Rift is less than thirty feet away-she wills away the screeches of the Rift monster, but they only increase in volume. “Please.”

Maka forces them through the Rift just as a pair of claws scrape against her neck. Distantly, she registers blood dripping down her skin; she collapses with Soul on the ground, rolling onto her back.

Above her head, the stars wink at Maka.

“Thank you,” she manages as darkness floods her vision.

* * *

Soul wakes up to find the night sky staring down at him, stars dotting across the sky. He tries to move, but his entire body throbs with an ache he’s never felt before, so he stays on the ground and tries to figure out where he is.

His memories are blurry-he remembers entering the Rift with Maka and Blair, but he doesn’t remember coming out of it. He gazes at the sky until he realizes the truth is staring him right in the face.

 _I’m on Earth._ Soul tries moving again with only slightly more success, rolling his head to the side and spying Maka lying on the ground next to him.

Blair’s face pops into his vision. “You’re awake!”

“I wish I wasn’t.” His voice comes out croaky, like he hasn’t used it in years. Everything about him feels so heavy.

“You haven’t figured it out yet?” He realizes he spoke his last thought out loud as Blair speaks. She tilts her head to the side. “I would have thought it’d be obvious.”

“What’s obvious?” Soul asks as he takes a deep breath, and feels a sharp pain in his lungs.

He freezes, staring blankly at the sky for what feels like an eternity. Then, he closes his eyes and listens hard.

Slowly, Soul inhales and holds his breath, feeling the rush of his heartbeat fill his ears for the first time in over ninety years.


	12. Mora

**Noun; Latin for pause, delay, or respite.**

* * *

A burning feeling lighting through Maka’s neck rips the darkness away from her eyes. She lets out a groan, blinking at the still dark sky as she lifts her hands to her neck, pulling away to find her fingers covered in blood.

Soul enters her vision, gazing down anxiously at Maka. “Are you really awake this time?”

The laugh she gives makes her ribs ache. “If I was before, then I don’t remember it.” She wipes her hand on her pants, then attempts to sit up, intaking sharply when the pain in her neck intensifies.

“Careful.” Soul cradles her head before helping her sit. “I think something cut you in the Rift.”

“Yeah, that _something_ had claws,” she says. Soul’s hand is warm against her skin as he braces her; there’s something odd about it, picking at her as she leans on Soul, breathing in and out until realization crashes over her head.

She jerks away from Soul, then draws close again in the same instant, poking him in the chest. “You have a body!”

“I do.” Soul’s voice has a hoarse quality to it. He clears his throat, and blinks, like the action is foreign to him, which she supposes it is, after being dead for so long. “I’m not quite sure how it happened.”

She couldn’t care less about why Soul has a body; she scoots forward until she is right next to Soul and reaches out without thinking. Her fingers card through his hair, still white as snow, although his eyes have dimmed to a dark rusty brown. Soul doesn’t move as her hand moves down to his neck.

Maka’s throat closes as the thrum of Soul’s pulse echoes against her fingers. “You’re alive.”

He speaks. “Yes.” His breath ghosts over her lips, and she realizes how close her face is to his.

Moments tick by; she doesn’t pull away, nor does Soul. Her hand is cupped around his neck now, fingers pressing gently into his skin to bring him closer, lips brushing against his ever so slightly. The pain in the back of her neck flares, and she gasps, jerking back, hand going to the back of her head.

Soul blanches at the blood on her hand, then tugs her forward. “Let me see.”

The pain increases as Soul inspects her neck. “They’re not too deep,” he says, drawing back. “It might scar, though.”

“I guess it’s good that it’ll be easy to hide then,” she replies, looking down at the bag around her waist, looping the strap over her head carefully. “I packed some bandages in here somewhere.”

“I’ll do it.” Soul takes the bag, digging for a moment as she twists around, brushing her hair forward. “Do you have any wipes?”

“They should be with the bandages.” She tries not to wince when Soul presses the wipe to her skin, rubbing it across the cut gently, although she can’t hold back her yelp when he fixes the bandage over it.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, running a finger over the bandage once. “There, you’re good.”

Pushing her hair back, Maka makes sure that the bandage is in place, then moves to face Soul. “Thank you.”

“I’m pretty sure I should be the one thanking you.” His gaze lingers on her face for a moment, then he rises, holding out a hand.

A vague sense of disappointment flickers through Maka as she takes his hand. She looks around the canyon alley, then realizes suddenly that something is missing. “Where’s Blair?”

“She said there were some poltergeists chasing after you before, though I didn’t see any when I woke up,” he says. “But she decided to go check anyways.”

Maka nods, eyes trailing up to the sky. There are no longer as many stars out, the inky dark of the night lightning into day. “We should get going.”

“ _Where_ are we?” Soul asks as he falls into step with her.

“Silver Canyon.”

A frown crosses his face. “You mean the old canyon?”

She raises an eyebrow. “Was it new when you were around?”

“Not exactly.” The spark of a grin plays on his lips. “It just didn’t have a name, so that was what we called it. One of the local newspapers called it that once, I think.”

“Interesting.” Maka smiles as they exit the alley, back into the main canyon corridor. There’s a giddiness spooling in her stomach that she can’t hide. “My mother’s into history, I’ll have to ask-”

She breaks off suddenly, horror washing over.

Beside her, Soul tenses. “What is it?”

“My mother is with me,” she says in a rush, eyes widening as she looks at him. “I never thought you’d be coming back with a body.” She thinks quickly, thoughts going to Kami’s trailer. “We came with a trailer-you could hide in there, but you won’t be able to sneak in until we’re done packing.”

A different thought seizes her suddenly. “You want to come, right?”

Thorns seem to prick Maka from underneath her skin the longer it takes Soul to answer.

“Wanting was never the question,” Soul says finally. She feels his eyes on her, but she can’t bring herself to look at him. “Being alive does change my plans a bit, so it’d be nice to have somewhere to go.”

He prods her when she doesn’t answer. “Alright?”

Maka nods at the weak light breaking across the last of the night, feeling like her heart is about to overflow. “Okay.”

* * *

Soul waits behind the rock where Maka left him, listening to the sound of her and her mother talking as he drinks in the sight of the sky. He missed the blue of the sky more than he realized, although he thought about that when his stomach rumbled earlier, too.

His hand goes to his chest, where he feels the steady beat of his heart. It’s a strange sensation, one that will take time getting used to. He’s distracted by the low grumble of his stomach, unsatisfied with the granola bar Maka snuck him.

It’s almost funny the way he embrace the hunger. _Normal_ , he thinks with relief.

Minutes tick by; he gets tired of crouching, and shifts to sit in the rock’s shadow, daring to peek out after a moment.

The rock is not very close to Maka’s camp, but it’s on a low hill, giving him an overhead view. He spots Kami first; her hair is darker than Maka’s and she is taller. There’s a certain elegance to the way she walks, and although he can’t make out much of her face, he can tell she is much happier than when he left for Abeyance, more at ease with Maka as they work together to take apart a tent.

It makes the tightness in his chest loosen, knowing there was something happy in Maka’s life while he was in Abeyance. Her expression when she realized he was alive told Soul how much his leaving hurt Maka, even if it was the right thing to do. The pain is still something he has to make up for, but he has the time and opportunity for it now.

Thoughts of the future wind knots of worry in his stomach the longer Soul thinks about it. When Maka presented him with the scrapbook of Wes, she’d included his obituary. Wes had two children still living, along with nine grandchildren and one great grandchild, but none of them live in Orcus Hollow.

He tries to picture meeting one of Wes’ children. _Hi, I’m your grand uncle who used to be dead. I’m alive again because of a potion I got from a witch._

He doesn’t have to imagine what their reaction would be.

The only option he can think of is going to school, although that would mean getting an ID, an obstacle he doesn’t even have the faintest idea how to tackle. Vaguely, he wonders if the diploma from his boarding academy is still valid.

A tug coming from Maka’s end of their link pulls Soul out of his head. Peering over the rock, he gets a glimpse of Maka and her mother starting to hike away with the first of their luggage before a weight dropping on his shoulder makes him start.

“Getting used to that new body yet?” Blair’s tail flits in Soul’s face as he moves away from the rock.

“Mostly, although I forgot how heavy things could be,” he says pointedly, navigating down the hill with care. Blair settles on his shoulder, evidently rejecting the hint, and he sighs. “Why did you come?”

“Maka wasn’t sure if your link still existed,” the cat answers as she licks her fur. “So she sent me as back-up.”

“Well, you can go tell her that it is.”

She sniffs. “I’m not your servant.”

“You got me killed.”

“And you have a new body now.”

Rolling his eyes, Soul reaches out within the link, giving a small tug back. Their bond is not as clear as it was when he was a ghost, as if his body muffled it, but it’s there. However, he can make out the eagerness in her return pull.

A part of him rests against their link during Soul’s trek out of the canyon, while the other recalls the feel of Maka’s lips on his, not quite a kiss. His train of thought breaks away temporarily when they reach the mouth of the canyon.

The Rift is invisible in the daylight, save for a dull shimmer against the sky, but Soul can still feel it in his bones as he turns around to gaze at the canyon. It feels strange to leave it, somehow.

_Wrong._

Blair nudges his head with hers. “Are you not used to all this walking?”

He blinks, shaking his head. “Just wanted to see something.”

“Well, hurry up.” Her prodding becomes more insistent. “Maka promised me fish.”

Giving one last look at the space stretching above the canyon, Soul turns away.

* * *

Maka’s heart thuds in her ears as she nods along to whatever Kami is saying, gaze trailing out to the passenger mirror and fixing on the trailer. Impatience bubbles underneath her skin, but there’s nothing she can do except wait until they arrive at her house.

She nods absently when Kami says her name, only looking up when her mother repeats it twice.

“Are you alright?” Kami glances anxiously at her. “You look like you’re on another planet.”

“I’m fine.” It’s been months since she meant those words. “Great, even.”

Her mother regards her with the same look she gave Maka when she came back with scratches and bruises after taking a dare from Black Star to skateboard down a giant hill with no elbow or knee pads.

Kami clears her throat before she speaks. “Your father told me about the...relationship issue you’ve been having.” For once, her mother looks completely out of her depth. “Does this,” she gives Maka a onceover, “have anything to do with that issue?”

For a moment, Maka fights with herself. Then, in a careful voice, she says, “It’s not an issue anymore, actually.”

“I see,” Kami says, although she clearly does not. A pause passes, and then she asks, “So is that a good thing?”

“It is.” The same giddiness she felt in the canyon wells up.

Her mother nods slowly, and she gives Maka a small smile. “I’m happy for you,” she says. “Can I know his name?”

Maka hesitates; this conversation is a way to introduce Soul in her life, but she hasn’t thought of a good story for the many questions her parents are going to have about him.

Finally, she decides on the truth for this question. “Soul.”

“Soul,” Kami repeats, eyebrows quirking slightly. “That’s a unique name.”

“It’s actually Solomon, but he hates it.”

“I think I can see why.” Moricio’s skyline breaks into view as they round a bend, and Kami throws another glance at Maka. “Will I be able to meet Soul soon?”

“He’s coming into town soon,” she lies. It’s too much to throw Soul into an abrupt meeting, even though she knows her mother is the easier parent to meet, between her and Spirit. “You can meet him when he arrives.”

“Perfect.” Kami gives Maka a wink as they pass into Moricio’s city limits. “That gives me time to work on your father.”

She matches her mother’s smile. “Thanks, Mom.”

* * *

Spirit is waiting for them on the porch, standing up and hurrying down the steps as Kami pulls into the driveway. He wraps Maka in a warm hug as soon as she gets out of the truck, while her mother lingers in her seat.

“Hey, Papa.” Maka returns his hug with a quick squeeze before pulling away, anxious to get to the trailer before Kami.

Her father keeps a hand on her arm, however. “Did you have fun?”

“Yes, I took lots of pictures, Mom’s going to print them out.” She glances behind herself, heart leaping in her throat when she sees Kami heading for the back. Scrambling out of Spirit’s grasp, she swerves in front of her mother. “I already got my backpack.”

Kami frowns. “I was going to check on the tents too. There was a lot of noise from the trailer while we were driving.”

“I can do that,” she says quickly. She grows desperate when Kami hesitates, leaning in. “Could you start warming up Papa about what we talked about? I want to tell him while you’re here.”

Understanding dawns on her mother’s face, then she nods. “It takes your father a while to get used to an idea.”

“Exactly.” Maka lets out a sigh of relief as Kami heads for Spirit, making sure they are engaged in conversation before going to the trailer. She opens the door, and Blair shoots out of the trailer, winding between Maka’s legs.

“This is the first and last time I get into a car,” the cat says, stretching out her front paws. “That thing feels like a coffin.”

“I’ll give you double the fish I promised,” says Maka, watching Soul yawn as he rises from his place on the floor.

“That’ll have to be later,” the cat says, swatting Maka’s leg in farewell. “I need to go to my forest.”

Her footsteps fade quickly as she bounds away.

“I, on the other hand, am sick of forests,” Soul says as he comes to the trailer’s entrance, a confused look crossing his face when Maka presses a finger to his lips.

“Everyone can hear you now,” she whispers, craning her head to make sure her parents are still talking before looking back at Soul, lowering her hand.

An apologetic look comes onto his face; he drops his voice to a whisper as well. “So now what?”

“Do you remember how we used to sit on my roof?” she asks. Soul nods, and she steps back to let him out of the trailer. “Climb up there, I leave my window open in the summer so you can get into my room.”

“Your room?” he repeats.

“You can’t stay out on the roof any more.” She grabs her backpack from the trailer, and eyes him. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Soul doesn’t meet her eyes. “And how am I supposed to get past your parents?”

“Leave that to me.” Maka claps a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll signal you when you can go from here.”

With that, she leaves.

Maka joins her parents, glancing at Spirit. By the look on his face, she can guess that Kami hasn’t quite dropped the news yet. “There were some loose poles, but everything looks good in the trailer now.”

“I knew I heard something.” Kami gives Maka a meaningful look before turning to Spirit. “Is it alright if I have a glass of water before I go?”

“Of course,” says Spirit immediately.

Maka waits until they’re inside to tug at her and Soul’s link, heart somewhere in her throat as she follows Spirit and Kami into the kitchen.

“I could make some lemonade if you want,” Spirit offers as Kami sits down while Maka gathers three glasses from the dish rack, head nearly exploding with her desire to be done with this conversation already.

“Water’s just fine,” says Kami, looking over at Maka. “Besides, Maka has something she wants to tell you.”

Spirit’s eyes narrow suspiciously as he grabs the water pitcher from the refrigerator. “What is it?”

“Why don’t you sit first?” Kami suggests as Maka takes her seat, hands going clammy as she wipes them on her pants.

The look on Spirit’s face is the one of someone who is sure they are being led into a trap, but can’t figure out what it is. Cautiously, Spirit sets down the pitcher, eyes darting back and forth between Kami and Maka. “What is it?” he asks again.

Maka struggles to find the same courage that pushed her to go into the Rift last night. “Well-”

Overhead, a thud sounds, barely audible, but Spirit’s head snaps up. “Did you hear that?”

“I have a boyfriend,” Maka lies quickly.

The air in the kitchen turns taut as Spirit looks away from the ceiling, and to Maka. His voice is faint. “What?”

“A boyfriend,” Kami says, intervening. “Which is what you were before we got married.”

“His name is Soul,” adds Maka as her father continues to stare at her. “He plays the piano, and has a cat.”

Spirit says nothing, but his eyes goes to the table, as if it will give him a way to unhear this conversation. He gazes at the table for a long time, and Maka opens her mouth, but Kami waves her down.

“Wait,” her mother mouths.

So she does, and eventually, her father looks up. “When?”

“We had a long conversation last night.”

He looks slightly mollified at that. “I want to meet him.” His finger lifts when Maka begins to protest. “You agreed.”

She blinks; yesterday feels like an eternity ago. It takes a moment for her to remember what Spirit told her, though when she does, she wants to slam her head against the table.

“Meeting him will happen in time,” says Kami. “We should be happy that Maka told us about Soul.”

Happy is the last thing Spirit looks, but when he looks back at Maka, the fog clouding his expression has cleared somewhat. “Are _you_ happy?” he asks.

Maka nods harder than she ever has-Soul being back was more than enough, no matter what they were. “Yes.”

Spirit’s face is slightly pained, but there is relief there as well. He sighs, a sign he is on the path to acceptance. “Alright.”

A buzzing breaks the silence; Kami apologizes as she looks at her phone and frowns. “I forgot I have to be in Moricio.”

“It’s okay,” Maka says, rising to give her mother a hug. “Have a safe drive.”

Kami’s eyebrows raise as she releases Maka and looks at Spirit, eyes narrowing. “Is it okay?”

His face works for a moment. “It will be.”

“Good.” She gives him a nod, turning to go.

Spirit’s chair scrapes back. “I’ll walk you out,” he says, giving Maka a glance as he and Kami disappear through the hallway.

Maka waits until she hears the front door close before shooting out of the kitchen, taking the stairs to her room two at a time. Her door bounces off the wall slightly as she enters her room, finding Soul standing awkwardly in the middle. She frowns, pushing her door closed with her foot and moving forward. “Why are you standing there?”

“I heard your father when I came in, and panicked,” he says, although he still doesn’t move. “Plus, I didn’t know where to sit.”

Rolling her eyes, Maka reaches out and grabs Soul’s hand, pulling him over to sit on her bed. “Here is fine,” she says, before realizing what she’s basically invited him on her bed and pointing to her desk. “So is the chair over there; the floor is hard, but also acceptable.”

“Good to know.”

“Yes.” Belatedly, it dawns on Maka that if Soul heard what Spirit said, then he probably heard what she said too. His hand is still in hers; she lets go of it rapidly to push her hair behind her shoulder and scratches the back of her neck without thinking, causing the cut from the Rift monster to sting violently.

Soul notices immediately. “How bad is the pain?”

“Hardly there when I remember not to touch it,” she answers. She gives him a curious look. “Does anything on you hurt?”

“Not really.” He gives a shrug. “I just feel alive.”

“That’s good.”

A silence falls, but it’s comfortable. Maka watches Soul look around her room, even though he’s been in it countless times. The look on his face as he experiences the world while alive is similar to how she feels when looking at him. Her eyes light over his hair and the slight flush resting in his cheeks, although her gaze is drawn tos his lips, lingering as the feeling of his lips echo in hers again.

Heat rises in her body, creeping into her face-she hadn’t been thinking when she’d almost kissed Soul, and now that he’s here in front of her, she doesn’t know where they stand. Doubt works swiftly; she thought she was sure was of his feelings, but he’s never said anything about them directly-admitting he wanted to stay with her was not the same as asking for a relationship. _But he hadn’t pulled away in the canyon,_ her mind points out, to which her doubt immediately attributes to the shock of being alive again.

Her body grows hotter as frustration flares, and she shifts, her knees brushing with Soul’s as she does. By the way Soul stiffens, she knows he noticed; she wants to crawl underneath her bed, but searches for something to say instead.

“So, I guess we should think about what’s next, since we can’t stay in my room forever,” she says, looking at her bedspread. “Black Star’s house has an empty room, and I think I could convince him to ask his parents to let you stay there. They have soft spot for taking in strangers.” She says this all quickly, gaze still rooted on her bed. “The high school doesn’t look very closely at records, so you could say you’re from overseas, and that your records…”

The rest of her words die away as she forces herself to look up, and sees Soul smiling at her. It breaks her heart a little, although she doesn’t know why. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” he says, then shakes his head. “Just happy, I guess.”

She isn’t quite thinking again when she leans over and kisses Soul. It’s a short kiss, questioning; her heart is hammering in her chest as she pulls away from Soul and raises her eyes to his.

Surprise dances in his eyes, but there’s something else there, too.

They close the gap between them at the same time; Maka gasps into Soul’s mouth as she scrambles into his lap, hooking a leg around his wiast. A groan escapes from his mouth, lips working against hers furiously as his hands wind around her body-pulling her close, but not close enough. Tugging at the collar of his shirt, she guides him on top of her as she lies back on the bed, wrapping her arm around his back so there is no space between them.

Tears prick at the corner of her eyes even though this is the happiest she’s been in a long time, trickling down as she continues to kiss Soul. He tries to lift his head when he feels the wetness on her face, but her grip on his shirt is like iron. One of his hands pulls free from beneath her, moving upwards to cradle her face, his thumb wiping away the tears.

Their link is burning, souls pulsing in time with each other. She wants more, something Soul seems to hear as his lips move from her mouth, mapping a trail up her jawline while his hand moves from her face and down the side of her body. His teeth graze against her skin when he reaches her neck, and she breathes in sharply, the hand holding onto his shirt slipping to his chest, pressing against his heartbeat.

“So,” he murmurs into her skin after a moment. “I’m your boyfriend?”

Maka groans, covering her face with her hand. “You heard.”

“I did,” Soul confirms, head lifting up as he pulls her hand away. He grins at her. “It was very cute.”

She scowls. “You’re laughing at me.”

His lips find hers again, muffling his reply. “‘M not.”

At first, she kisses back, but then she freezes, pushing his face away. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

A sheepish look comes onto his expression. “I said I panicked. I was trying to find a way to tell you when you beat me to it.” His breath ghosts over her lips. “You did it much better than how I was going to.”

She raises an eyebrow. “And that is?”

“Asking you on a date.” Soul’s eyes glint with amusement as her mouth opens, though nothing comes out.

Finally, she manages to find her voice. “You could ask me now.”

It surprises her when he moves away, rising from the bed and pulling Maka up to her feet. Soul smoothes her hair, clasping her fingers with one hand while the other cups her face. “Will you go on a date with me?”

She huffs a laugh at his seriousness as her throat closes, though she is able to whisper, “Yes.”

Her arms wrap around him, and she buries her face into his neck, feeling how fast his heart is beating.

It is at that moment that Spirit chooses to walk into her room.

* * *

Soul feels his new lifespan shorten considerably when Maka leaves the living room to go to the bathroom, Spirit’s eyes turning on him for the first time since he walked in on them. He doesn’t explode, like Soul expected him to, only going even more silent than he already was.

He doesn’t have the right to speak so he waits for Spirit to talk, keeping his eyes on the coffee table in front of him, jumping slightly when Spirit finally speaks.

“Is your hair dyed?” he asks.

His head shakes. “My mother always said I was albino.”

Spirit’s lips purse. “Where are your parents?”

It’s easiest to go with the truth. “They died.”

“Oh.” The mask drops from Spirit’s face drops temporarily. “Who is taking care of you now?”

“My brother, but he died in a car accident last year.” His lie is only partial. According to the obituary, Wes had died very peacefully after a near-death accident.

Spirit now regards him with an awkward sympathy. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right.” Soul wishes his expression would go back to hostility. “I’m dealing with it.”

“Good.” For a moment, it seems like Spirit might go back to not talking, but then he speaks again. “How well do you know my daughter?”

He is intensely grateful Spirit hadn’t walked in earlier. “We’ve been friends for almost three years.”

“I was the first one to hold her when Maka was born.” The careful way Spirit talks keeps his words from sounding competitive or overprotective. “I also took care of Maka when her mother left, though not as well as I could have.

“So I know when she is sad,” Spirit continues, shifting in his seat. “And she has been sad most of the past few months because of you.” He thinks for a moment. “Well, mostly because of you.”

Guilt sweeps over Soul like a deluge of rain. “I know, I-”

“I’m not the one you should be giving your apology, though it’s better if you show it,” Spirit’s words are not entirely unkind. He lifts a finger when Soul starts to speak again. “However.

“I also know when Maka is happy.” Spirit’s tone turns reluctant. “And she’s very happy, being with you.”

Soul waits.

“Whatever happened, I can let go of it,” Spirit says, scrunching his nose as he talks. “Eventually,” he adds after a moment. His face becomes serious again. “What I’m asking you to do is keep her happy.”

Spirit leans back in his chair then, and Soul deems it safe to speak. “That’s what I want to do-it’s all I want,” he says. “I’d do anything so Maka is happy.”

A long pauses follows before Spirit nods, deciding his words are genuine enough. “Then I think we’ll get along, at least.”

Maka reenters the living room. “Are you done interrogating my boyfriend?”

Spirit winces. “My ears are still too delicate for that word.”

“Get used to it,” she says, patting his shoulder as her eyes widen in apology to Soul, though she relaxes when he gives her a tiny nod.

“I still haven’t decided what to do about you sneaking a boy in your room,” Spirit threatens, although his words are hollow. He glances at the watch on his wrist. “Looks like it’s time for lunch.”

“About lunch.” Maka’s voice becomes nervous as a car honks outside. “I called Tsubaki and Black Star to pick us up.”

Spirit shakes his head. “No.”

“I want to introduce Soul to them. It’s his first day back,” she pleads as Spirit’s eyes go back to Soul, who tries to make himself look as innocent as possible. “They haven’t met Soul yet.”

“In three years?”

“It was a slow-building friendship.” Soul is impressed by how quickly she recovers. “Please, Papa.”

Spirit shakes his head again, although less firmly this time. “And what about introducing me?” he asks.

“You were going to be the first to meet him.” Her words are sincere. “I wanted you to get to know him before anyone else.”

“Well, that certainly happened,” he says, snorting. Spirit is quiet, and then relents. “I want you home by nine-thirty.”

Her arms envelope Spirit in a hug, excitement filling her voice. “Thank you,” she says, squeezing him once. Then, she straightens, reaching out to grab Soul by the hand.

Soul holds out his hand to Spirit as she pulls him to his feet. “It was nice meeting you, sir.”

“You’ll need to call me Spirit if you want to date my daughter,” he says, blanching as he clasps Soul’s hand. “And don’t forget what I said.”

He nods. Maka whispers to him as she leads him out of the living room, “What did he say to you?”

“Nothing bad.” Soul glances behind himself before Spirit disappears from view. “The usual father things.”

* * *

Maka holds Soul’s hand tightly as she glares at Black Star, who pays her no attention as he ogles at Soul from the front seat.

“So, are you _alive_ alive?” he asks.

“I think there’s only one way to be alive,” Soul says.

Black Star cedes his point with a tip of his head. “Are your teeth real or did you get those while you were in Witchesville?”

Fortunately for him, Tsubaki smacks Black Star before Maka can reach him. “That’s enough,” she says, taking her eyes off the road for a second to glance at Black Star.

“Fine,” he sighs, deflating.

“They’re real,” Soul answers, making Black Star’s head pop up to stare at the back of the jeep again. “But my eyes were redder when I was dead.”

Black Star is flabbergasted, then he whispers, “Cool.”

“You’re only encouraging him,” Maka says to him as he begins to rub circles around her palm, lingering over the places where calluses have formed during her work as a reaper.

“It’s alright,” he replies, wending his fingers through hers. “Curiosity is better than fear.”

She can’t argue with that, so she leans her head on his shoulder instead, the exhaustion from the past day finally catching up, falling into a doze. When the jeep stops, Soul whispers her name, and she rouses, blinking.

“Dream about anything?” he asks as he helps her down from the jeep.

“I don’t think so.” The edges of a dream had been close to catching her, but she can’t remember what it was about. She glances around, and sees the sign to Sid’s diner flashing in front of them, feeling her stomach rumble.

“Hurry up, I’m starving.” Black Star dances in place, his eyes flicking to Soul every few seconds.

“I’m sure you know some of Black Star’s good qualities, but patience is not one of them,” Tsubaki says to Soul as she comes from the other side of the jeep. She holds out a hand, giving him a smile. “Thank you for helping defeat my brother when he attacked me.”

“That was mostly Maka and you,” Soul replies, taking her hand.

Maka shakes her head in disagreement while Tsubaki’s smile remains. “Thank you, nonetheless.”

“Touching,” Black Star comments. “Can we go now?”

“I’m going to kill him,” Maka mutters as they enter the diner.

“He just needs sugar,” replies Soul.

She laughs. “You’re probably right.”

Sid greets them from the window in the kitchen, doing a double take when his eyes fall onto Soul. He recovers by the time he walks out into area behind the counter, though Sid continues to glance at Soul’s hair with an uncertain expression as he greets him. “I don’t believe I’ve seen you in Orcus Hollow,” he says. “I’m Sid, Black Star’s father. Are you new in town?”

“My family used to live here, but they moved a long time ago.” Soul beats Maka in answering.

A flicker of sympathy flashes on Sid’s face. “I’m sorry…” he trails off, looking at Soul expectantly.

“Soul,” he says. “My last name is Evans.”

“I feel like I’ve heard that name before.” Sid says, frowning as Maka’s stomach lurches. “I’ll have to ask my wife. She’s a history teacher.”

“I’ve found food,” announces Black Star as he emerges from the kitchen with a tray full of fries, though Maka never saw him go into the kitchen. The patrons at the counter are uninterested as he struggles with the barrier separating the kitchen from the dining area, long used to his presence.

“Which you will be paying for with an afternoon shift,” calls Sid as Black Star heads to the back of the diner, where it’s mostly empty. To the other three, he says in a lower voice, “I’ll bring you real food in a minute.”

Maka forces a smile, then mutters to Soul as they go to join Black Star, “You shouldn’t have told him your last name, Sid’s wife is big on local history.”

“It was the only name I could think of.” His hands squeezes her reassuringly. “And if she knows what happened, I can just says it’s a coincidence.”

The answer doesn’t satisfy her completely, but she drops the subject as they reach the booth.

Although Black Star’s mouth is chock full with fries, he manages to talk somehow. “Can you eat?”

Soul takes a fry from the tray, and bites into it. “Yes.”

A laugh escapes from Maka as she settles into the booth, but she can’t escape the nervousness needling her stomach. She’s not sure where it came from, maybe it’s something residual from the dream she can’t remember, only that it sticks to the walls of her mind with stubborn determination.

She’s distracted by the sight of Soul still standing outside of the booth, a strange look on his face. It disappears before she can ask him what’s wrong, and Soul holds the fry away from him. “I don’t think I’m used to food yet,” he says. “Excuse me.”

His step is steady as he heads towards the bathroom; Maka shakes the worry from herself before she can overthink, seeing Black Star and Tsubaki’s faces going serious at the same time.

“So.” Black Star’s hands fold in front of him like a police officer who claims they’re the good cop. He swallows the last of his fries with a large gulp. “Everything went well last night.”

Her eyes narrow. “Is that a question or a statement?”

Black Star’s gaze swivels to Tsubaki. “Could you clarify that?”

“What he-we-are curious about,” she sighs, “is how Soul came back with a body when he was, well-” She gestures vaguely.

“We don’t know how it happened.” Maka answers, keeping her voice low. “We went through the Rift, and when we came out, Soul had a body. There was nothing else,” she says. “He wasn’t conscious when we left the Rift, so he didn’t even feel it happen, but it’s not something either of us expected.”

Her head tilts to the side. “Why are you asking about this?”

“That kind of leads to our next question,” Tsubaki says, awkwardness cutting across her face.

“Are you together?” blurts out Black Star.

She has no idea where these questions are going. “I’d have thought the hand-holding would have made it obvious.”

Tsubaki’s elbow digs into Black Star’s stomach. “I told you.” She looks back at them. “I’m sorry, we just thought it’d be a better way than asking if this was permanent.”

“You mean Soul being alive?” Her heart beats so fast she thinks it might leap out of her chest as she banishes Tsubaki’s implication. “It’s permanent.”

As Maka repeats herself, Tsubaki reaches across the table, patting her hand. “Sorry for bringing it up,” she says apologetically. “It was just a worry. We’re happy for you.”

“Right,” Black Star says, looking guilty. “If you say it’s permanent, then we believe you.”

Maka nods, eating a fry, even though she’s lost her appetite.

_I believe it._

* * *

Soul’s hands unclench around the bathroom sink as the wave of nausea that hit him when he ate the fry suddenly dissipates, leaving him gasping and hunched over.

_Come._

His head snaps up at the sound of the voice, thinking someone walked into the bathroom, but he sees no one. Breathing deeply, he waits until he is sure the nausea won't return, then scrutinizes himself in the mirror. A sheen of sweat covers his face, and he looks drained, although he attributes that to not sleeping. His gaze trails to his chest, where the scar from Giriko's blades stretches across his torso in a knotted rope of raised skin; he'd discovered it while leaving the trailer to sneak into Maka's room, but he's had no time since to think about what the scar means.  _It means **nothing** , _he tells himself as he switches on the faucet, rinsing his face. He scrubs hard at his skin, shaking away the echo of the voice-it had have come from someone outside.

After he finishes drying his face, he studies his reflection in the mirror again, and decides that he looks better enough to go back out into the diner; he refuses to consider the nausea, scar or voice as anything abnormal-he'd be able to tell if anything was wrong, but there isn't.

One of the plate of french fries is half-gone when he arrives back at the booth. Black Star welcomes him back by offering him a piece of french toast that Sid must have brought when he was in the bathroom. He accepts, mainly to ease the worry on Maka’s face.

She leans towards him as he sits down. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I just think my body can’t handle grease that well yet.” He takes a bite of the french toast, surprised to find it tastes good, and starts to believe his own words.

Relief erases the anxiousness from her expression. “We’ll make sure to keep you away from the bacon.”

“Maka says that you used to live in the old town,” Tsubaki says to Soul as he takes another bite of the french toast, which tastes as good as the first bite. “And that you used to play the piano?”

“I played in some recitals, I wasn’t always as popular as my brother Wes, but I liked writing my own music,” he says. “I would play that at concerts sometimes, and he would always clap the loudest.” Death has taken away the feeling of inadequacy and anxiety that would rise up every time he talked about his music. He wonders if Wes kept his composition notebooks after he died, though he doubts any of his children would have held onto it after Wes passed.

“That’s very sweet, my older brother was like that too, before he got sick.” Her smile is bittersweet. “Which part did you live in?”

“Shibusen,” he answers, blinking his thoughts away as he finishes the french toast in another two bites and accepts the second piece Maka prods into his hand. “It was outside of the town because my parents wanted to show how much space they needed for their mansion.”

Black Star’s eyebrows lift. “You’re rich?”

“My parents were rich,” he corrects. “Then, their money went to Wes after they died. I don’t think they accounted for their other son coming back from the dead.”

“Oh.” Black Star pauses. “I have some clothes in my closet that’ll probably fit you. Nygus is using our spare room as a home office, but I have a sleeping bag, if you want to camp out on in my room.”

“I have an actual room,” interjects Tsubaki. “Although it was Masamune’s, so I don’t know if you object to that,” she adds. “But it would probably take me some time to convince my parents for you to stay.”

“In return, you could show us all the secret places in the old town,” Black Star says as he chomps down on a piece of bacon.

Soul’s not sure exactly what he did to be welcomed so quickly; he supposes it’s mostly for Maka, but he’s at ease with the two, and senses the same feeling coming from them. Outside of Wes, friends weren’t something he’d really been familiar with before he died. It changed with Maka, and a bit with Liz and Patti, although he had left before he could become better friends with the sisters.

“Sure, that sounds like fun.” He feels Maka’s smile through their link, and is glad to be keeping his promise to Spirit.

“Awesome.” Black Star drums the table with grease-coated fingers. “It’ll be a literal ghost tour.”

“Whatever you’re cheering about will have to wait until after your shift,” Sid says as he comes around to pick finished plates, eyeing Black Star. “You’re on the schedule.”

“That’s not fair,” he protests.

“You’re the one who chose to do what you did to my truck,” says Sid unsympathetically. “See you in the kitchen in five minutes.”

Black Star gives a shrug as Sid walks away. “We’ll go when I get off at seven, it’ll be cooler at night.”

“So long as I’m back home by nine-thirty,” Maka sighs. “I’m on curfew.”

“What did you do this time?” Black Star asks.

“What’d you do to Sid’s truck?”

Tsubaki rolls her eyes as they start to go back and forth, and a smile tugs on Soul’s lips. He lifts the piece of french toast to his mouth, then pauses, nearly gagging.

The french toast smells rancid.

_Come._

Putting the stick down on his plate, Soul wipes his hand on a napkin, and looks around, sure he didn’t miss the voice this time. He catches Tsubaki watching him as he settles back in his seat. She doesn’t say anything as he freezes, looking away.

He tilts his head towards Maka and Black Star as if he’s listening to them, but his attention is somewhere else, fighting the worry starting to coil in his stomach.

* * *

Maka peers through the window as she and Soul walk past the diner, seeing Sid plop a cook’s hat on Black Star while Tsubaki sits at the counter, reading a book. Her gaze moves away, and she forces herself to swallow the knot of anxiety in her throat, tightening her hold on Soul’s hand. It’s been built into her nature to mistrust before anything else, and she can’t keep from replaying her conversation with Tsubaki and Black Star over and over.

“You’re quiet.” She looks at Soul, and sees that they’re nearly at the movie theater, realizing she hasn’t spoken for at least five minutes.

“I’m sorry.” It makes her feel better to look at him. “Got caught up in my thoughts.”

He doesn’t say anything, and she knows he won’t press if she doesn’t say anything else, but the idea of holding onto her fear makes loneliness stir to life in her chest. “Tsubaki and Black Star asked me if this was permanent,” she says finally, stopping in the shadow of the theater. A shiver crawls down her spine. “If you were permanent.

“And the truth is, I don’t know, and I wish I did.” She leans against the stone building, her free hand taking his, staring down at the ground. “I’m scared.”

It’s been years since she admitted that out loud; she feels raw, vulnerable. Soul doesn’t say anything for a long time, and then he pulls a hand away. Gently, he tips her chin up. “What do you see?” he asks.

She looks up, blinking rapidly to keep the tears from escaping. “You.”

“I’m here.” His forehead presses against hers. “I’m staying, okay?”

It takes a minute before her voice is steady enough to answer. “Alright.”

He holds Maka for a long time, even after her body stops shaking.

* * *

The sun is a little past the halfway point in the sky when Soul and Maka move away from the theater. Soul sees her wiping her eyes in his periphery sometimes, but the fear that was choking her side of their link is dwindling.

Guilt jabs at him for not sensing it earlier, too busy worrying over feeling nauseous for a few minutes. He wants to see a smile curl on her lips again, and an idea springs to mind as he thinks.

“Do you remember what I asked you earlier?” he asks, glancing over. “When we were in your room?”

Her gaze drifts upward as she thinks, then a blush blooms across her face. “If I wanted to go on a date.”

“There’s somewhere in the old town that I want to show you,” Soul says. “Do you want to go?”

Her brow furrows together. “Aren’t we going with Black Star and Tsubaki later?”

He shakes his head. “I just want you to see this.”

The last of her fear dissolves. “Okay.”

It takes a little less than an hour to trek back to Maka’s house, Spirit’s police cruiser absent from the driveway. He waits by the truck while Maka goes inside to get her keys. His reflection stares back at him nervously in the window, her anticipation bleeding over to him. The person he used to be would have never dreamed of doing this, but Maka’s confession earlier reminds him that he wants to be better than who he was. He doesn’t know if he can be as brave as her, but he’s going to try.

She comes out of the house a few minutes later, keys in one hand and a picnic basket in the other. She’s also wearing a different shirt. “It had blood on the collar,” she says as they get into the cab, setting the basket in the middle. Her face is bright pink. “I think the cut opened while we were upstairs.”

Heat blazes in Soul’s face as well, but he hides it by leaning towards her, pressing a kiss to the side of her jaw. Maka turns to him, lips finding his for a moment, shivering when she moves away.

“Anyways, you should be more careful,” she says as she attempts to put the key in the ignition, missing once before she gets it.

A snort escapes from him. “I think you should be telling yourself that.”

Her lips purse together to hide her smile. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Soul studies how she puts her truck in gear, easing it out of the driveway before shifting gears again to start driving towards the remains of the old town.

She catches him watching. “Do you want to try?”

“I don’t want to die again just yet.”

“It’s not that hard.” The truck moves to the side of the road, and Maka shifts gears again, looking at him. “This road is mostly a straight shot,” she says. “I can sit in the middle and guide your hands, if you want.”

For a moment, Soul hesitates, then he nods. He gets out of the truck and goes to the driver’s side while Maka moves to the center seat.

It’s nerve-wracking to be in the driver’s seat; the road suddenly appears as deadly as the Rift. His hands perch on the sides of the steering wheel, though Maka’s fingers move them gently, adjusting his grip.

Her fingers stay on the hand closer to her. “You need to bend your elbows a bit.”

He does as she says, and feels her nod. “Good.”

Pointing to the pedals, she asks, “You know which is the gas and brake pedal, right?”

“Left is the brake, right is the gas.”

Maka nods again, and guides his hand to the gearshift, tapping against the plastic shield of the dashboard, to the column of letters on the side, to a tiny square with ‘D’ in the middle. “Press down the brake, move the gearshift there, and make sure to keep your foot on the brake.”

His heart pounds as he follows her directions, and feels the engine quicken in its rumbling, like a beast ready to charge. He looks out at the road again. “Do you always feel like you’re about to die before you drive?”

“Only consistently in the beginning,” she answers. “And only occasionally afterwards.”

“Great.”

“Just start by taking your foot off the brake.” Her hand curls around his. “Then you can go faster if you want.”

He takes a deep breath before he pulls his foot away, holding it as Maka moves his hand and he merges the truck back onto the road. It moves at less than a snail’s crawl, but Maka’s voice fills with excitement. “You got it.”

Soul’s foot edges to the gas pedal, pushing down. He jumps as the truck lurches forward, then slows as he pulls his foot away. Meanwhile, Maka keeps the steering wheeling steady, words slightly breathless. “You have to push the pedal gradually.”

His laugh is shaky. “Yeah, I think I figured that out.”

When he tries again, the truck moves forward much more smoothly, although it’s nowhere close to how Maka drives. Eventually, Maka removes her hand, and he’s really driving, heart hammering in his chest, although the needle on the odometer never breaks over twenty five miles per hour.

He moves onto the dirt next to the road when they arrive at the edges of the old town, letting out a breath of relief as he parks the truck. “I am never doing that again.”

Maka’s laugh is warm and sweet as she presses a quick kiss to his cheek. “That’s what almost everyone says when they drive for the first time.”

“I’m going to be the one that means it,” he says as he gets out of the truck. He meets her in front of the truck and gives her the keys. “Never again.”

Her hand laces in his. “You’ll change your mind.”

They face the old town; the buildings still look like faces with broken teeth and missing eyes, but the imaginary ghosts Soul saw when they came here last time no longer exist. He blinks in surprise when he hears the whispers of actual ghosts.

“What is it?” Maka asks as he guides her through the streets.

“I didn’t think I’d still be able to see ghosts,” he says, curiously eyeing one of the ghosts peeking through the second story window of the building they pass. “I guess it’s because I was dead.”

“Probably,” she agrees. A pause goes by, and she asks, “Are you going to tell me where we’re going yet?”

“Not until we’re there,” he says, grinning at the tiny scowl on her lips. “Be patient.”

She wrinkles her nose. “I have been.”

“Almost there.”

_Soul._

“What is it?” He glances at Maka.

Her head shakes once. “I didn’t say anything.”

For a moment, panic swells up, then the wind blowing through the old town groans loudly, morphing into a high-pitched whistle.

He lets out a sigh of relief, rubbing his thumb over Maka’s knuckles.

Memories drift up in a gauzy haze in Soul’s head as they reach his family’s storehouse. It’s a shell, walls and roof ripped away, but what he’s looking for isn’t above ground. He lets go of Maka’s hand, stepping on the wooden floor, all that remains of their instrument storehouse, finding the door to the basement where he remembers it.

“This is where our family would keep all of our old instruments,” he says. “I insisted on keeping all my pianos in the basement.”

“Pianos?” Maka repeats as she approaches. “You _were_ rich.”

“I hated it when I was growing up.” Running his hands along the wooden door, he finds the handle, which turns remarkably easy in his hand for being so old and damaged. “But if I hadn’t been, then I wouldn’t be able to show you this.”

Sunlight filters through the dark of the basement, illuminating the stairs leading down. They look creaky, but stable. Soul tests one with his weight before offering Maka his hand. She takes it, the anticipation on her face rising as she follows him down the stairs.

The basement is caked with dust; Soul’s heart leaps when he sees the tops of a half dozen pianos covered in white sheets, lined up like a row of tombstones and just as silent. Turning to Maka, he says, “This was my life before I died.”

Her gaze trails to each piano, one by one, before going back to him. “Tell me about it?”

He takes her to the first one, a tiny piano slightly higher than his knees, pulling off the sheet. It preserved the piano remarkably well, given that the piano was stuck in a rotting town for decades. “This one was more of a toy,” he says as her fingers graze the top of the cover. “My parents got it for my second birthday, and I didn’t stop banging on it until I was five.

“These both got worn out in about two years,” he says, gesturing to the next two pianos, watching as she takes the sheets off of them and fingers the scratches on the keys.

“What are these?” she asks.

“I started getting anxious for recitals.” The bitter memories prick against his mind, but the years have taken away their sting.

Letting go of her hand, he goes to the next piano, stately and elegant even ninety years later. “I had my first panic attack onstage with this one.” That memory is harder to shake, but he goes to the second to last piano, pulling off the sheet and lifting the lid to show her the etchings where he carved some of the notes for one of his songs. “My parents got really angry at me for that, but I hated music for a while then, so I didn’t care.”

Maka is quiet, watching his face. Her footsteps are nearly inaudible as she walks to the last piano. “And this one?”

“I never played it,” he answers. The top of this piano still has a dull gleam to it, ivory keys clear of smudged fingerprints. “It was going to be for me to practice with in college, but I died.”

Several moments tick by until Maka speaks, gaze flicking down the row of pianos before returning to the last one. “Could you show me how to play?”

“They’re all out of tune.” He points to the first four pianos. “Those ones probably won’t even work.”

“I don’t care,” she says. The green of her eyes shines in the half-darkness as she looks at him. “I want to see life the way you did.”

His heart hammers in his chest, refusal suddenly impossible. He points to the last piano. “That one will probably work the best.”

Maka heads to the other side of the row as Soul follows, sitting in the middle of the piano seat and resting her hands on the keys. “How’s my posture?”

“Not bad.” He moves to stand behind her, and presses a hand to her lower back. She straightens, and his hands drift to gently wrap around her wrists and lift her arms. “Pretend the keys are something that will break if you touch it too hard.” His head brushes against the side of her face as he moves closer to watch.

Maka shivers like how she did when he kissed her in the truck, doing as he says.

For a moment, he thinks about what she should play, then moves his hands to rest over hers, positioning her fingers on the keys. “I’m going to play out a rhythm on your fingers, and you can follow along.”

“Okay.” She nods, her face brushing against Soul’s.

He taps out a few keys.

Immediately, Maka presses down on the keys, and a discordant melody garbles out of the piano. She cringes, lifting her hands. “That was bad,”

“You hit the keys a little too hard,” Soul says, once he’s sure his hearing is intact. He takes a seat next to her. “But it’s mostly not your fault.”

“Thanks.” She makes a face, freezing as he presses a light kiss to her lips.

A flush creeps up her neck as Maka turns back to the keys. “I did get a sense for the notes, I think.” She pushes down on a key; it’s dissonant, but the chime of its note is clear. “I liked this one best.”

“That’s the G key,” he says. “It’s strong and soft at the same time.” His eyes meet hers. “It reminds me of your soul.”

He freezes when she moves closer to him; Maka senses his hesitation, and pauses. “What is it?”

“I have something to tell you.”

“What is it?”

He looks down at the keys, then raises his head. Maka had looked him in the eyes when he’d asked her to in front of the theater. “I took a potion that would keep me awake from a witch named Medusa,” he says quietly. “When I was trying to stay away from you, I was scared of hurting you, and of you seeing what I was...

“The potion made me… more into what I was.” Maka’s expression isn’t readable, but her eyes are still on Soul’s face. “When I found out, I decided to go back, but not before I drank a potion from a different witch who hated Medusa. That’s what gave me a body.”

His hands are trembling when he finishes; he feels terrified and lighter at the same time.

Finally, Maka speaks. “Who do you see?”

His throat closes. “You.”

“Me,” she says fiercely. “People do a lot of things they shouldn’t to protect who they care about.” Her hands clench around his. “And if it brought you back, then I don’t care. I’m staying.”

Soul is careful not to put his arm around Maka’s neck as she curves her face towards him, letting out a sigh when his lips move against hers.

* * *

Black Star closes the door to Tsubaki’s jeep, waiting for Tsubaki before they approach Maka and Soul. “Thanks for waiting.”

“I called to tell you that we were here, didn’t I?” says Maka. “We didn’t explore around too much.”

Soul squeezes her hand, and she avoids looking at him to keep the smile off her face. They really hadn’t walked around much when they emerged from the basement, eating the snacks she threw into the picnic basket, although Soul had only drank water after nibbling on a cracker.

And while it worries her that he’s eaten only a granola bar and a couple pieces of French toast, her happiness is bigger than any other emotion inside of her now. Their talk in the basement had dispelled the last of the strange nervousness sticking to her mind.

“We should start in the middle of the town.” Soul cranes his head at the darkening sky, the sun a red orb nesting on the line of the horizon. “There’s a tunnel running between the fire and police stations; kids used to dare each other to sneak from one end to other without getting caught.”

“That’ll be good for the house jumping competition on Halloween,” Black Star says, rubbing his hands together. “I’m going to hunker down there and pick off the other teams without them having a clue who’s doing it.”

“Given that you yell out your name before you attack, I’m pretty sure someone will figure it out,” says Tsubaki.

“Not this year, I’m going to become a ninja.” Black Star turns to jab a finger at Maka and Soul. “You’re going to come this year, you’ve been holding out with your soul sensing stuff.”

Soul wears a confused frown. “What’s house jumping?”

“It’s like catch the flag. High schoolers play it here on Halloween,” Tsubaki explains. “Only it’s in the dark, and takes place in structurally unsound buildings.”

“My father tries to stop it every year, and he never can,” Maka adds. “He says it’s one of his retirement goals.”

“Sounds fun.” Soul looks to Maka. “Have you ever played?”

“Halloween doesn’t have a good track record for me,” she says. “But this year could be different.”

He opens his mouth to answer when a ghost veers out into the street. Black Star and Tsubaki keep walking, but Soul and Maka grind to a halt.

Dread spikes in Maka’s belly when she spies the phantom water dripping down from the ghost.

“I don’t think that was quite it,” calls out a familiar voice from a building. Kid jogs into view, Liz and Patti at his side. His jaw drops open as his eyes fall on Maka and Soul, although Patti shoots forward to greet them.

Black Star and Tsubaki have stopped now, eyes wide as they turn back. Briefly, Maka wonders how she could salvage the situation.

Then, Marie, Azusa and Stein walk into view.

* * *

Soul fights down the wave of nausea threatening to send the contents of his stomach back up his throat. One of the small children sitting in the front of the van is eating something sweet, its aroma wafting to the back seat where Soul sits and fueling his nausea, although a hunger stirs in his stomach.

But it’s not the scent of food that kindles the hunger.

Leaning his head against the headrest, Soul breathes in and out of his mouth, trying to settle his racing heart. _He had left that behind in Abeyance,_ he thinks. There was no other option.

The door to the van slides open, and Stein stares at Soul calmly as he straightens, resisting the urge to ask where Maka is. He can feel her anger swelling in their link.

“You’ve looked better,” the scientist says, stepping to the side to let Soul out of the van. “Which is saying something, considering you used to be dead.”

“Am I supposed to say thank you?” He masks the trembling in his legs with difficulty, feeling a lightness flow up to his head.

Stein shrugs. “Take it how you want.”

Soul glances around as he follows Stein; he doesn’t see Tsubaki or Black Star; although he can hear Black Star’s voice echoing from the building Kid took him and Tsubaki to nearby. However, Stein does not take him to them, instead leading Soul to one of the storefronts on the main street. The scientist holds the door open for Soul as he moves up the brick steps of the store.

_Come to me._

Soul’s head whips around, searching for the voice that’s been stalking him all day, seeing nothing. His eyes fix on the Rift in the distance as a strange longing that he does not want rises in him.

“Soul?”

Maka leaps to her feet from the table she’s sitting at, veering around Marie. “Are you okay?” she asks as she reaches him.

He nods. “I’m all right.”

Relief breaks across her face, then she whirls around to glare at Azusa and Marie. “I gave you your answers,” she says. “Now let us go.”

Marie tries to soothe her with gentle words. “Maka, you know we have to get Soul’s version of the story.”

“Fine,” she says after a moment. “But I’m staying.”

“Okay,” Azusa speaks finally, gesturing to the table. “Just take a seat.”

Soul’s head feels like it’s separated from his body as he approaches the table. _There is something very wrong,_ his mind whispers. But he has no time to think about it as Azusa and Marie sit down, Stein resting his hands on the back of Marie’s chair.

“So,” says Marie, clearing her throat. She looks to Soul. “You’re alive now.”

He nods, Maka’s presence thrumming through his link. “I am.”

“How?” Azusa says shortly.

“Maka came for me,” he answers, trying to stay as vague as possible. “We crossed the Rift together. I was unconscious at the end of the crossing, so I don’t know how it happened, just that I woke up alive.”

“It just happened?” Stein asks.

“That’s what seems like,” he says, holding back a shrug.

Azusa’s stare is sharper than a laser. “Why did you go into Abeyance?”

It’s precisely the question that doesn’t want to answer. “I was trying to do the right thing,” he says finally.

Stein adjusts his glasses. “Right thing for whom?”

Soul stays silent, because there is nothing he can say.

“I think we should focus on what Soul found while he was in Abeyance.” Maka’s gaze is as steely as Azusa’s; through their link, she nudges him to speak.

“There aren’t many witches over there, only a dozen,” he says. “They’re surviving, but slowly starving.

“The Rift isn’t separate from death,” Soul continues, looking at Stein. It’s getting more and more difficult to concentrate. “It’s part of it, there’s a boundary running around it, funneling souls to Abeyance.”

Interest flickers on all three of the DWMA members’ faces.

“We would have never discovered that until we died ourselves,” says Stein.

Azusa frowns, obviously agreeing, but reluctant to say so. “You can still see ghosts?”

“Yes.” There is a fever heat spreading across his body; he can hardly focus on anything outside of it-his and Maka’s bond grounds him, but just barely.

There is a long silence.

“Can you come to the DWMA right now?” Marie asks.

Maka answers for him. “Yes,” she says. “We can go right now.”

“You might have kept some of your abilities from your time as a ghost.” A strange look crosses Marie’s face, and she looks at Stein as she stands, whispering, “That is so odd to say.”

Soul searches blindly for Maka’s hand as they rise as well.

_It’s good,_ he tells himself as he walks outside of the store. _This is good._

The Rift is the only thing he can make out; it stretches out to him, whispering for him.

_But he is not._

* * *

Tightly, Maka holds Soul’s hand as they get up from the table. Tonight hasn’t gone the way she imagined, but they’ve narrowly avoided disaster. She can tell that Azusa still doesn’t trust Soul, but Marie and Stein are starting to.

_Everything will build from there._ The wind has a bite to it, but Soul’s hand is incredibly warm.

She twists to him and, in the span of a breath, everything goes wrong.

Dark lines run in spidery veins down Soul’s face, traveling rapidly down to his neck. Then, a violent shaking rocks the hollowed out remains of the old town, ripping her hand out of Soul’s.

Maka’s head knocks against one of the posts; stars explode in her vision.

When the earthquake finally stops and Maka opens her eyes, Soul is gone.

* * *

Soul runs through the forest as the Rift continues to call to him; he can’t control his body anymore-it drags him along until he is nearly upon the Rift.

It opens wide in front of Soul, welcoming him in.


	13. Terminus

**Noun; Latin for boundary, limit, or the end.**

* * *

Denial is the first thing that seeps into Maka’s mind as she stares at the empty space beside her. Then, reality snaps in place, and she fights the feeling of her heart fracturing, instead digging into her bond with Soul.

There isn’t much she can tell, other than that he’s moving fast and seems to be struggling against something, although she can’t tell what he’s fighting. Maka’s hand grips the post and she forces herself to her feet, swaying unsteadily as aftershocks continue to rumble beneath her. The cut on the back of her neck has opened up again; blood trickles down her back, but she ignores it, stumbling down the store’s steps.

Kid, Tsubaki, and Black Star burst out of a building ahead of her, Liz and Patti shadowing overhead. “What happened?” Kid demands as they draw up next to Maka.

Her head shakes; denial still lays heavily on her mind, numbing her thoughts and sealing her voce. Maka pinches the back of her hand hard-she needs to think.

The sound of someone struggling to their feet breaks the haze she is under, and she turns on instinct. Stein has his arm wrapped around Marie as he helps her up, Azusa already on her feet. The psychic’s glasses are cracked, and there is a trail of blood staining the side of her face.

Azusa’s eyes find her. “What happened?”

Maka finally finds her voice. “Something attacked Soul.” The disbelief on the psychic’s face is obvious, but she doesn’t care. A familiar dread builds in her bones, clawing its way into her throat-the same fear that devoured her before every single one of her losses in the past. She forces it away before it can snap her sanity. Again, she reaches through their link, pushing out her perception at the same time. The weight of his soul is cloaked by something thick in her perception field, but his presence in their bond is slightly stronger. She focuses on it, turning until she is facing Soul’s direction.

Taking a few steps forward, Maka’s eyes scour the forest, seeing nothing, then flick up to the inky sky. Her gaze passes over it twice before she realizes she’s not looking at the sky.

The Rift spreads in tiny, steady degrees above Earth, wisps of darkness unfurling as it slowly swallows the sky. It has turned the darkest color of pitch. Maka traces its path with her eyes, twisting to see what direction the Rift is moving in, and feels her blood run cold.

Orcus Hollow

“That,” Stein says as they all peer at the shrinking sky, “is not good.”

* * *

Soul regains control of his body as soon as he enters the Rift, collapsing. The air is rancid and sour as he sucks in breath after breath, body curled up. This body is all wrong, he can feel it now in the way it’s wrapped around his soul like the strings of a puppet.

His breaths slow-a puppet was how the witch had treated him when she sealed him in the cocoon, and how Medusa had pulled on his strings until he had done exactly what she wanted. A puppet is what he always was-he wonders what Medusa plied the one-eyed witch with to convince him drink the potion.

A hunger Soul recognizes blazes to life as he pushes himself to his feet, stoking the anger and fear coiling in his body. He’s close enough to the edge of the Rift that he can still see Earth and the forest outside the old town. There’s something odd about the forest peeking through the gaps in the Rift, like the trees are growing larger. Soul squints at the sight for moment, horror cutting through his hunger as he realizes that the forest is not getting larger, but  _ closer. _

“No,” he whispers, looking down at himself. He moves all the way to the edge of the Rift, but something stops him from leaving it, like his body is bound here. His hands push against the wall, but Earth continues to slide in underneath his feet. “No.”

He whirls around, and strides into the darkness, yelling, and kicking his feet against the ground, making as much noise as he possibly can, but no monster comes lunging out of the dark, no matter how loud he is, like they are all hiding away from him. Frustration rises as Soul finally gives up, chest heaving. He wants to rip his soul out of his body and tear it into shreds, but there is nothing but silence in the Rift.

Minutes tick by, and the knowledge that he is the one pulling Earth across the Rift sits on Soul like a dead weight. His thoughts fill with images of people being picked off by invisible monsters as their homes are enveloped in an endless darkness. Of Orcus Hollow being dragged in, taking Blair, Black Star, and Tsubaki.

Of Maka, who’d try to save as many people possible.

“I won’t let it happen,” he says aloud. There may be nothing good in his soul, but that won’t make him lie down and give up.

He starts to walk, although that quickly turns into a jog, then a run.

* * *

Pinching the bridge of her nose momentarily, Azusa says to Maka, “You mean to tell me that you’ve been harboring a kishin soul all this time, and never thought to tell us?”

Maka glares at the psychic and the group of sniffers she called up when Maka tried to go into the forest, while the others watch their back and forth like a tennis match. “He came back alive. I didn’t think it was a problem any more.”

“That body’s a facade, if what you’re saying about Soul not going into the Rift willingingly is correct.” Azusa hasn’t yelled at her yet-her voice is soft, but full of thorns. “It was probably built to last only until his soul could cause whatever this is.”

Her words push needles into Maka’s heart; it’s exactly what the edges of her thoughts have been whispering in her mind. She ignores them, however, hands clenching around her reaping gloves even though she’d left the bag with the scythe cube in her truck. “Whatever is happening, I know Soul is trying to stop it,” she says. “We have to help him.”

“Help?” Marie speaks for the first time. “Have you felt what’s coming from the Rift?”

Maka doesn’t answer, but glances towards the Rift, reaching out with her perception. There is a steady stream of madness coming from it, but it is overwhelmed by a crushing deluge of fear, sending chills up her spine and gnawing on her bones even from here.

There is an absence of poltergeists and creatures from Abeyance around the Rift, like they are giving it a wide berth.

“If the legends surrounding the kishin are correct, then who do you think is causing that?” asks Marie when Maka doesn’t talk or turn around.

“That’s why we have to help,” she says, flaring as she finally looks away from the Rift. Soul had taken away her fear; he’d pulled a soul out of the Rift-that was who he was.

“And how?” Azusa says, crossing her arms.

“Resonating with his soul would help,” she answers defensively, although she has no idea if it would, or how it might help even if it did. “Meanwhile, the DWMA could buy time; you could take the people closest-”

“Firstly, the DWMA was made to contain the Rift, not weather a full-scale invasion,” Azusa interrupts. “There is no manpower to evacuate entire towns, and our building would be overcrowded very quickly, not to mention that most people can’t see the Rift. They’d have no clue why they’re essentially being kidnapped.

“And secondly, you’re not going into the Rift,” continues Azusa. “It’s impossible.”

“Why?” She is getting fed up with this conversation; she’d hoped to be able to fetch her scythe from the scythe from her truck, but she might have to make a sprint for the Rift instead, though she doesn’t know if she could outrun Azusa’s sniffers. “I’ve been in the Rift before, I could help the most.”

“Because the only way to stop this would be to find a way to seal the Rift,” Stein answers, his arm still wrapped around Marie. “Which is not possible for the DWMA, so the slightly less impossible option would be to eliminate the source pulling Earth into the Rift.” His gaze travels to Azusa. “Am I correct?”

It takes a moment for Maka to process what Stein is implying.

“No.” Her voice is hardly above a whisper; distantly, she feels a hand on her arm. She rips it away, searching until she finds the person she’s looking for.

Kid starts as Maka rounds on him, stabbing the air towards his face with a finger. “You’re not doing it,” she says. “You can’t do it.” Her voice creeps higher with every word.

His golden eyes are wide. “I’m not doing anything!” Then the same realization dawns on his expression, and he looks uncertainly at the DWMA members.

Lifting her hands, Marie steps between Maka and Kid, glancing at Azusa. “Let’s not get ahe-”

The sharp cry of a police siren cuts off the rest of her sentence as a cruiser’s lights bounce off the intact windows in the building next to them. The group turns to the car; Maka recognizes the number of license plate as the driver opens their door.

Spirit gets out of the cruiser, wearing a mystified expression as his eyes go from Stein, then to Kid, and finally to Maka. He stares at them for a few seconds, apparently too flabbergasted to speak, while they do the same.

“Stein?” he finally manages. “What are you doing here with my daughter?” His gaze flicks back to Kid, the strangest-looking out of them all; recognition flickers in his face when he looks at Marie and Azusa. “Why are these people here?”

Finally finding herself, Maka strides up to Spirit. “Papa, what are  _ you _ doing here?”

“Haven’t you seen what’s happening in the sky?”

Maka hesitates, unsure if what Spirit sees is the same thing that she sees, whether the Rift is visible from his point of view. “I’m not sure what I see,” she says. “What do you see?”

“The sky is turning black, but it’s not like that,” he answers, waving a hand to the sky behind him, where the stars still shine brightly. “It’s something else, and no one has no clue what it is. The power in the entire town is down, so everyone at the station is going door to door to keep people inside. I haven’t managed to get a hold of your mother, but I know she’s in Moricio.”

Her hands ball at her sides as she tries to keep her voice steady. “Then why are you here?”

“I went home to check on you, and found your note.” She could slap herself-she’d thought she was going to be back late, which is why she left the sticky note on the refrigerator. “When I saw you weren’t back, I came out here to find you.”

At that, her father takes her hand, tugging it. “Come on, let’s go.” His gaze goes to Black Star and Tsubaki. “You two as well.”

Panic swells; Maka pulls her hand away from Spirit. “I can’t go.”

Spirit blinks, then frowns. “Maka, it’s not safe,” he says, a hint of his police officer voice tinging his words.

“Soul’s gone,” she says. Looking at her father while she speaks makes her throat close. “Something’s wrong, and I don’t know where he is.” They’re not exactly lies-she has no idea where Soul is in the Rift.

“Oh.” He relents slightly, but not much. “Let me get you three home, and I’ll come back.” His eyes glance towards Stein and the rest. “I don’t know why you’re here, but you can find shelter at the fire station.”

“No, I’m not going.” Maka’s words become steel. “I have to find Soul first.”

Confusion mixes with stubbornness in Spirit’s expression. “You’re going, Maka.”

“I won’t.” Her eyes narrow; she gestures to the Rift behind her, though she knows Spirit can’t see it. “Soul is out there, and he needs me.”

“He needs help,” Spirit corrects, clearly trying to stay patient. “Which I am not objecting to, but you-”

“No.” She sets her mouth in a line-she can be more stubborn than Spirit.

“We might be able to help,” Marie says, stepping forward. “We have a van and equipment outfitted for searching in the dark. Maka could come with us.”

Maka looks disbelievingly to Marie. “Really?”

“We need to at least investigate what we’re up against and your perception is the greatest I’ve ever seen,” she says. “It would be helpful to know where we’re going.” Marie glances at Azusa. “Then we can decide what to do from there.”

“I have no idea what you all are talking about,” says Spirit. “But you’re not taking my daughter towards whatever that darkness is.”

Maka takes another few steps away from Spirit, then turns around. “I already told you I’m not leaving, Papa.”

At this, Black Star jumps in, joining Maka. “Yeah, neither am I!”

Spirit looks from Maka and Black Star to Tsubaki, still on the sidelines and the voice of reason in their group.

“I know nothing makes sense,” Tsubaki says to him as she joins the others. “But I have to stick with my friends.”

Maka’s heart hammers away in her chest as her father stares at them, slightly open-mouthed.

Then his mouth snaps shut and he rubs his face, like he is very tired. When his hand pulls away, his face is resigned. “I’m coming with you.”

“You can’t,” Maka says quickly. She looks at Tsubaki and Black Star. “Neither should you.”

Black Star scoffs. “Do you think I’m going to miss out seeing something like this?”

“This isn’t a trip to the beach,” Tsubaki chides before meeting Maka’s eyes. “But we’re still coming.”

“It’s either I come with you, or you stay,” interjects Spirit. His hands are set on his hips, meaning he’s made up his mind. He looks at Maka. “Which one is it going to be?”

A few minutes later, Stein is trying to force an inflexible vest with a hood over Spirit’s head, Spirit sputtering incomprehensibly as he does. Marie pushes a smaller one into Maka’s hand while Azusa, Kid, and Kilik work in a perfectly coordinated team, packing things from the second van they brought into the bigger one.

“We were testing these out tonight while training a reaping ghost,” says Marie. “Stein developed them to buffer against the madness of the black blood. They worked when we tested with poltergeists, but I don’t know how it’ll work with…”

She trails off, though Maka knows who she means.

Accepting the vest, Maka pauses. “Thank you for bringing me along.”

“I’m giving you a chance to be involved, like we should’ve done before,” Marie answers, tilting her chin to Azusa. “But we’re staying outside of the Rift,” she says. “And whatever decision we come to is final.”

Maka hides her face by tugging on the vest. “I know.”

* * *

Soul finally makes out the outline of Medusa and the witches waiting at the edge of Abeyance and the Rift after searching along the boundary for what feels like an eternity. The veil of the Rift blurs Medusa’s expression, but he can tell she is smiling.

Anger,  _ rage _ , boils in him as he comes to a stop in front of Medusa. His gaze flits across the rest of the coven, and he spies the hunched frame of the one-eyed witch, although she no longer has just one eye.

His hand slams against the part of the Rift in front of Medusa’s face, but she doesn’t flinch. Instead, her smile grows wider. “You didn’t think you were going to escape so easily, did you?”

The rage surges up, a crescendo pounding in his ears. “You did this.”

“I can’t take all the credit,” says Medusa. She begins to walk along the Rift, the glow of her eyes cutting through its mist. “After all, it is  _ your _ soul that’s dragging in Earth.”

Balling his hand into a fist, he shoots after the witch, driving his hand into the wall of the Rift again. A loud rumbling beneath his feet rocks the ground as soon as his fist connects with the Rift, nearly knocking him down to his knees. Soul’s balance fumbles, tilting him over, and he crashes against the Rift.

A flutter of excitement ripples through the rest of the coven as he rights himself, looking to Abeyance and finding Medusa’s eyes staring at him. He jerks away as the ground continues to shake, though not nearly as hard.

Her head tilts. “Aren’t you curious what that was?”

Soul stares back at her with his lips pressed together.

His refusal to ask only seems to delight the witch. “I told you to hold onto that fear and anger, didn’t I?”

It takes several moments to realize what Medusa means, and then Soul whips around, eyes searching desperately in the dark, although he is too far away to see the other side of the Rift, to see how much of the Earth just got pulled in because of him.

“We’ll be seeing you very soon, I expect.” He turns around to see Medusa stepping back, the coven hastening to follow her as she walks away. “Although the Rift will no longer be separating us then.”

Soul’s heart feels like a battering ram inside of his chest as he watches the witches disappear from view. He presses his hands against his face as he attempts to get a hold of the fear threading through his veins. His thoughts are a hurricane and he can feel his mind fraying with the hunger burning in every part of him. In this body, it’s more potent than it ever was, its flames raking through his limbs with a brutal violence. The truth is bitter in his mouth: the hunger is going to take over eventually, and then he won’t be able to do anything.

It sets an invisible timer ticking in his head, and he takes a deep breath, lowering his hands. No matter how much his mind deteriorates, he has to find a way to stop Earth’s movement into the Rift.

He has no idea where to start as he walks away from the Rift wall. The timer ticks faster in Soul’s head as he looks to Earth. Even if the hunger wasn’t chipping him apart, he only had until just before Earth reached Abeyance to do something-everything will be over as soon as any part of it touches the witches’ realm.

The shape of an idea flickers in his mind and Soul stops abruptly; he wheels around in a circle, searching the Rift intently until he feels the darkness thrumming outside of it. The muscles in his legs are aching as he pushes himself into a run. He’s not sure what he’ll do or find once he gets to the boundary, but it’s the only thing he can think of doing.

Soul sends a plea out to anything that will listen as he runs.

* * *

The ghost Maka was supposed to bond with gazes at her through the roof of the van as it rumbles along the road. She waits for her to speak, but the ghost’s mouth doesn’t open and her morose expression remains unchanging, and after a moment, Maka looks away uncomfortably.

She looks at the Rift, slowly growing bigger through the van’s windshield, as Spirit’s elbow lies jammed in her side, while Black Star and Tsubaki sit squished together on the other end of the middle row. In the front, Azusa drives, Stein taking the middle seat, while Marie keeps the inside of the van purified in an attempt to keep out the madness humming from the Rift.

There’s a tense silence in the van, one that beats in time to the faint pulse coming from Soul’s side of their bond. Maka leans her head against the seat, trying again to reach him, but something, most likely the Rift, prevents her from getting through to Soul. She refuses to think about the worst, but the thought circles her mind, a guillotine hanging over her head. The familiar realization that her world has suddenly turned breakable again is nauseating, pushing her heart into her throat. Her fingers bounce in an endless tap against the cube in her fingers-it’s too much, everything is too quiet and loud at the same time, and the urge to move and do  _ something _ is stabbing her with pricks of impatience, but she can do nothing until they’re out of the van.

Spirit’s voice rouses her from her anxious half-trance, and she looks at him with a questioning frown. His eyes are focused somewhere to the side of her, attempting to put together the pieces of the puzzle sitting in front of him. “You haven’t been going to the library or Black Star’s house when you’d stay out late, have you?”

“No.” She swallows. “I haven’t.”

He nods, gaze drifting up to the front of the van. “Were you with them?”

She is aware of the silence, and only bobs her head.

“Doing what?”

Her head shakes. “I can’t explain it all right now.”

Spirit looks at her. “But you will.” His tone makes it a question.

Maka nods again.

“We have powerpoints in situations like these,” Stein says from his seat. “The pictures may help.”

A furrow forms on Spirit’s brow. “What do you mean?” 

Before Stein can answer, a weight tugs on Maka’s perception. She opens her mouth to speak just as Kid calls from the back, where he, Kilik, and the twins sit. “Do you feel that?”

“It’s probably another aftershock,” answers Azusa. “We’re going to be feeling those a lot.”

“No, it’s something else,” Maka says straightening up in her seat. The being in her perception field has their soul cloaked in madness, stronger than the poltergeists’. It muffles the beat of their soul almost completely, making it impossible to tell what they are. 

She opens her mouth to warn Azusa when a sudden jolt rocks through the van, a metallic bang ringing out. The van’s brakes screech as Azusa brings it to a halt. Maka lurches forward; Spirit’s hand seizes her shoulder, keeping her head from smacking into the back of Azusa’s seat.

Maka’s heartbeat pounds in her ears; voices break out as the van stops completely and go quiet as the sound of something scrabbling on the roof fills the air. Marie looks back to the three ghosts in the van. “Can you see anything up there?”

Immediately, Patti and Lizi drift up to the ceiling, but stop there. Liz wears a perplexed frown on her face while the silent ghost reaches out, hand stopping at the roof. She speaks for the first time. “There’s something blocking the way.”

Marie looks as bewildered as Spirit, Black Star, and Tsubaki, who hear none of the ghosts’ side of the exchange. “That’s impossible.”

Kilik begins to speak. “Maybe we should-”

The rest of his sentence is cut by a violent screeching as the sliding door on Maka’s side is ripped off. Crona’s head drops into view from the roof of the van. Their eyes are wild as they search the van, wide cracks splitting down their face and neck, before finally meeting Maka’s. “Where is he?”

Their words swell to a screech. “Where is the kishin?”

Then, their head snaps to the right. “There,” they breathe. 

Crona disappears abruptly, the van shaking as they take off into the air.

Silence descends for a few moments, then the roof lets out a groan as it sags, starting to cave in. Maka scrambles out of the car first, running to the back of the van to let out Kid, Kilik and the twins, and hisses when her eyes fall on the handles, covered in a familiar hardened black liquid.

“Are you alright?” Black Star calls as he joins Maka at the back, Tsubaki on his heels.

“Yes, but we’re stuck,” replies Kilik’s muffled voice. “The ghosts are keeping the roof up, but it’s still caving.”

“Ghosts?” Spirit appears on her left. “What does ghosts mean?”

For the fraction of a second, Maka hesitates, and then she says, “Stand back.” The cube in her hand flashes; she registers Spirit’s exclamation of wonder as she fits the back of the blade in the crevice where the two doors meet, pushing and pulling the scythe side to side. There’s the sound of voices as the others join her at the back of the van, but she concentrates on forcing the doors open.

When the scythe has created a large enough gap, she pulls away, and Black Star and Tsubaki rush forward to yank on the door closest to them while Azusa and Stein open the other. Kilik scrambles out with the twins tucked under his arms, Kid following after him.

Maka steps away from the van, only distantly hearing Spirit’s bombardment of questions and the others’ voices. Her head is in a fog as she follows the muted pulse of Crona’s soul with her perception-she doesn’t have to wonder who they were looking for. Ahead is the Rift, close enough to see how it drags the Earth in by degrees.

Her eyes trail to Spirit’s. “I’m sorry.”

Maka’s grip on the scythe tightens as she turns and sprints towards the Rift.

* * *

Soul feels himself coming apart as he travels to the boundary; there are souls in the Rift, hiding in the darkness like the monsters. His sense of smell is heightening, and he can almost taste the tempting aroma of fear wafting from the quivering souls. The sound of his footsteps trips to a stop as he catches the scent of a soul only a short distance away.

His nails dig in his palms.  _ I don’t want this, I don’t want this, I don’t want this. _

The soul is so, so close.

Gritting his teeth, Soul holds his breath as he forces himself forward.

* * *

The Rift is filled with a silence that sets Maka’s teeth on edge as she enters-the wall is extremely viscous, but it’s not solid like it usually is. Trees loom ahead of her, which must be the part of the forest outside of old Orcus Hollow that’s already been drawn in. She keeps her scythe ready, pausing in the darkness to get her bearings.

Crona is nowhere to be seen, although she can sense their soul with her perception. The madness coating them is thick; she can feel the song beginning to wind in her blood and withdraws her perception, pulling up the hood of her vest and silently praying it works.

Sucking in a breath, she reaches out again, finding Crona moving erratically along the Rift’s mouth; she doesn’t understand why until she looks back at the entrance.

Swaths of hardened black blood creep along the Rift wall, covering the entrance gradually but steadily. Maka steps back, eyes wide.  _ They infected the Rift when they entered. _

A cold feeling closes over her as she realizes she doesn’t know how long she has until the Rift closes completely. She breathes out, turning to face the vastness of the Rift, and thinks about how long it might take to reach Soul.

It doesn’t change her decision.

* * *

By the time Soul reaches the Rift’s boundary, he is covered in sweat from the effort it takes to keep from unraveling. He braces himself against the wall, a semblance of calm coming over his mind when he realizes that he made it. Fighting the shakiness in his legs, he looks out into darkness.

_ Death. _

He recalls vaguely that Stein had called death a place when he and Maka first joined the DWMA, although he didn’t fully understand it at the time. Now, he does.

His palms lay flat against the boundary, attempting to think through the hunger consuming his thoughts. There was something he was missing, lying just beyond his reach. Blowing out a breath of frustration, Soul digs his hands into the boundary, feeling it resist at first before giving way.

Soul stares at his hands; it’s not much of a secure boundary if he can get through it so easily. Then, he slowly pulls his hands out, gazing at them before lifting his eyes back to the boundary. Out of the dozens of times he spent wandering death, he’s never seen a Rift monster here. The only time something came out of the Rift was when he helped the old man.

Beyond the boundary, the sphere of light that found Soul bobs in front of him, an expectant air about it. He’s not quite thinking as he reaches through the boundary and cups the light in his hands, bringing it through.

The light’s soothing warmth flows into Soul, clearing the hunger away. He intakes sharply when the light wriggles free from his grasp and transforms into the scythe.

In his head, the missing piece falls into place as Soul’s fingers wrap around the scythe.

Death wanted to be whole again.

Exhilaration surges through Soul as he tightens his hold on the scythe, backing up so he could swing the scythe forward with as much force as possible. Without the Rift, Earth would be released, and the witches would slowly die out without souls being funneled by the Rift to Abeyance. The monsters living in the Rift would die, too-souls passing through death move too quickly to be caught.

The blade doesn’t even make a dent in the boundary.

Soul stares in disbelief for a moment, then tries again. And again.

But the boundary’s surface remains as smooth as glass. Eyes narrowing, Soul gives up on swinging, and tries to drive the point of the blade into the boundary. He tries to resonate with the scythe, feeling the light’s resonance within it, but he can’t fall into rhythm with it. Even so, he believes he’s making progress when the blade abruptly gives way to reveal the surface of the boundary looks completely untouched.

His palms ache from how hard he was gripping the scythe as Soul lets it drop to the ground. It transforms back and the sphere of light zooms up, pulsing against his face indignantly.

“You tell me how to do it then,” Soul tells the sphere irritably as he swats at it. 

The sphere stops poking at Soul and goes to hover at his shoulder.

“Great.” Soul lets himself flop on the ground to rest, breathing heavily. He doesn’t understand how he can get through the boundary with only minimal effort, but now he can’t even make a scratch on it. His instinct tells him resonating with the light is the key, but he doesn’t know how to resonate with something that isn’t even a person.

He studies it, trying to frame breaking through the boundary like the reapings with Maka. It’s different, being the meister rather than the weapon, and requires more finesse, although he doesn’t see any other way he could shatter the boundary than how he just tried.

Getting to his feet, Soul puts his hand on the boundary and searches along it for weaknesses, the light moving with him. After several minutes, however, it gradually becomes clear that the boundary is almost certainly uniform, no matter how much he looks or what direction he searches.

Frustrated dread builds in his stomach as Soul goes back to hacking at the boundary with the scythe, though it stubbornly stays intact. His resonance is out of sync with the light’s, growing more wild as his panic rises. He rests his forehead against the handle of the scythe when he finally gives up.

The scythe changes to the sphere again when he lifts his head, hovering in front of Soul. Hunger stirs back to life in his chest, and a spike of fear runs through his body, followed by a rush of anger. He wants to be rid of the fear that plagues him, he doesn’t want to be a monster, but it’s what’s written in his soul.

In that moment, Soul realizes how afraid he is of himself.

Sitting on the ground, he brings his knees to his chest and blows out a breath to try to clear his fear, to keep himself from drawing in Earth even faster. The light follows him; he holds out a hand and it settles in his palm.

The sphere reminds him of Maka; its warmth slowing the terror coursing in his veins to a trickle. He’d like to stay there on the ground, basking in the light’s warmth until the hunger swallows him, but he gets up and stays standing even as a soul-deep exhaustion swells over.

Soul reaches for the tiny sphere, feeling it meet his hand as it transforms. Bringing the scythe back in an arc, he twirls the handle between his fingers; the scythe’s material is neither metal nor wood, but something else. His face reflects dully in the surface of the boundary as he readies his swing.

In his reflection, he can see the truth of his life. Fear is circular, and he has let it keep him fixed in the same cycle. It’s what drove him from Maka and into Abeyance, into allowing Medusa’s influence, and into drinking the potion from the one-eyed witch. 

He has to break the pattern once before it all ends; there’s nothing he can to do to change his soul, but it’s what he chooses to do with it that counts.

There is a loud clunk as the scythe’s blade bites into the boundary. Soul wrenches it away; the groove warping the surface isn’t deep, but it’s there. Triumph floods through his body, and he strikes the boundary again, feeling the blade dig deeper this time.

The light’s resonance thrums through the scythe and into in his hands, sinking in as the high from his elation fades. It weaves through his soul, pulsing in perfect time.

* * *

Maka tracks Crona in spurts, falling back when the madness flowing from their soul gets too loud and quickening her step when she can no longer hear the flutter of their wings. Doubt creeps in her head as she follows them, but they’re looking for Soul like she is and know the Rift far better than she does. She’d begun her search for Soul on her own, based on Crona’s volatile behavior at the mouth of the Rift, but Crona had shot away on a fixed path before she wandered too far into the dark.

The silence of the Rift is disorienting, somehow worse than the whispers and cries of the monsters within it-it’s the kind of silence that stills the sea just before a storm, pressing against Maka’s eardrums with an ominous heaviness.

Shoving away her unease, she focuses on Crona’s soul; without their presence, her journey is blind-she doesn’t dare risk getting their attention by illuminating the dark with her scythe. She is so intent on following Crona without being noticed that she doesn’t registered the scuttle of feet rushing her from behind.

She goes flying forward as the monster slams into her back, throwing out her arm just in time to avoid impaling herself on the scythe’s blade. The darkness of her vision wobbles as Maka rolls onto her back, the monster’s putrid breath fanning against her face. 

Her foot kicks out, hitting home, and she wrenches the scythe upward, the flat of the blade catching in the monster’s mouth. With a twist of the handle, the blade’s point hooks into the monster and it lets out a strangled screech. Maka struggles to her feet, pushing the blade further into the roof of the monster’s mouth. It goes still after several moments of fighting to break free, but she continues to dig the blade into its head a few seconds longer for good measure.

The discordant drumming of Crona’s soul is further away than Maka expected. Anxious panic spreads through her chest and into her throat as she breaks into a run, derailing her focus completely as she senses Crona’s soul flying far faster than she could ever move.

Pushing herself to go faster is a mistake; she trips on her feet, and goes stumbling forward. A sob bubbles on her lips as Maka regains her balance, leaning heavily on the scythe as she tries to fight down her panic.

_ Breathe. _

She pictures going on family trips to the mountains, sitting in the diner with Black Star and Tsubaki, and feeling Soul’s hand in hers.

_ Breathe. _

She holds onto them as she begins to run again.

* * *

Soul’s energy flags when he is a little more than halfway through the boundary. He pauses for a moment to let the sharp aching in his arms fade, although nervousness pushes him into lifting the scythe again before he fully recovers.

The hole he is chipping into the boundary is just wide enough to fit the blade of the scythe-he hopes he’ll be able to cleanly rip through the length of the Rift like scissors with a piece of paper once he cuts through the boundary. In his hands, the light’s resonance continues to pulse in perfect rhythm with his.

His breath catches when he feels the blade break through. The calculated strikes of the blade dissolves into forceful hacking; he ignores the screaming of his muscles and the fatigue bleeding into his bones, trying to cut faster. Hairline cracks form, then widen as the hole in the boundary gets larger.

Soul’s legs are threatening to collapse when the weakened part of the boundary gives way with only a small groan of protest, forming a gap large enough to fit the scythe and his body through at the same time.

The darkness of death rushes in with a soft sigh. Soul stands back and watches for a moment, reaching out to feel the fluid darkness flooding in-it’s almost velvety, completely different from the harsh feeling of the Rift’s darkness. Then, he goes to the hole, peering out into death. It does not call to him like the Rift had, crushing the tiny hope he’d been nursing that death might take him away when he was done.

It’s a disappointment he’ll deal with when he’s done, he decides, firmly hooking the blade into the boundary and pulling it forward. With the added pressure of death pouring in, the boundary cuts much more easily. The rush of death accompanies Soul’s steps as the boundary starts to peel away, cracks crawling up the surface and out of sight.

A real smile tugs on his lips when Soul sees the boundary tearing itself apart on its own ahead of him, finally unraveling with the force of death surging against it from the outside. Soul backs away as the ground at the base of the boundary breaks apart.

An ache, sharp and bittersweet, twists in his chest as the scythe transforms back into the light, and Soul contemplates the expanse of death. It will be better to lose himself in there than on Earth, even though that isn’t what he wants at all.

The light swerves in front of Soul as he makes to step off of the ground and into the darkness, pressing against his eyes, and he cringes, blocking the light with a hand. “You got what you wanted.” 

However, the light refuses to leave when he tries to go around it, making him backpedal awkwardly. “What do you want?”

Soul barely registers he is flying back before landing in a crumpled pile on the ground. Pain cascades down from the shoulder he landed on-he’s sure it’s broken. He sits up and clutches his shoulder with his good arm, though it only increases the agony ripping through his arm. The light comes streaking into his view, bobbing in front of him.

A hiss escapes from his mouth as he rises, every movement sending bouts of fresh pain tearing through his shoulder.

“You’ve ruined it.”

Crona’s wings beat almost soundlessly as they stare at the deteriorating boundary. Madness roils off of them in waves as they turn to Soul. Their gaze, lifeless and resolute, stands in contrast with the chaos of their soul.

“I was going to eat your soul,” they tell Soul as their wings set them on the ground and sharpen, forming jagged blades. He glances to the light as Crona speaks-there’s no way he’d be to hold it, let alone wield it.

Cracks spread across Crona’s skin, wiping away their face. “But I’ll ruin you instead.”

* * *

The weight of Crona’s soul disappears behind a swell of madness and Maka pauses in her tracks, searching for a whisper of their soul. Instead, Soul’s familiar pulse beats nearby in her perception; her mouth runs dry as she throws caution to the wind and illuminates her scythe.

She only gets a glimpse of the ground disintegrating beneath her feet before it drops away completely. Her legs kick out instantly; instead of feeling the weightlessness of falling, she finds herself buoyed up, caught in an eddy of a darkness that isn’t the Rift’s quickly racing by. It takes a minute to recognize the darkness as the one she and Soul would meet in. Absolutely nothing makes sense, but she has no time to investigate as she kicks her way back to solid ground, giving a wide berth to the edge of the steadily receding ground as she climbs back onto the Rift.

What does become clear to Maka is that the darkness of death flowing into the Rift will overtake it, breaking the Rift’s hold on Earth. Her step quickens as she strides away from the shrinking edge of the Rift, heart beating like a timer counting down to zero, and to where she feels Soul. She’s suddenly certain he was the one who opened up the Rift-she has no idea how, but it gives her hope.

The discord of Crona’s madness weaves its way into her blood as she approaches, nearly pushing her down to her knees. Maka manages to keep upright by leaning on the scythe, fighting the song sweeping through her soul by flooding herself with her resonance. It clears the worst of the madness from her mind, though her gait is unsteady as she begins to totter forward.

Maka catches sight Crona, a quickly moving blur, and of Soul, all but collapsed on the ground. She’s closer to Soul than she is to them, but can still see how their wings have hardened over as a bout of violent laughter from Crona carves through the air. As they pause, facing Soul, her eyes trail from him to Crona, realization hitting her and making her break into a sprint when they charge. She hurls herself into Crona’s path, blocking the blades of black blood as she blocks them with her scythe.

There is an ear-splitting clang as the scythe splits apart in her hands. She staggers back from the force of the blow, looking down to find half of the scythe’s blade gone and the handle cleaved in two.

Looking up, she finds Crona standing a short distance away, a puzzled look on their face. Their madness has dropped slightly, leaving their soul exposed-there’s something in its anxious drumming that reminds her of how she felt when the poltergeists terrorized her in her room as a child. She reaches out and tries to bring their resonance in time with hers, realizing too late it’s the wrong decision.

Black blood flows from the fissures running over Crona’s body as they charge. Acceptance sweeps through Maka quietly: there’s nothing she can fight with, and if she moves, Crona’s blades will cut through Soul instead.

She feels rather than sees Soul rushing in front of her as Crona’s blades swing up.

* * *

Soul sheds his body like a snake, but the pain follows.

Everything is distant in his vision, as if he is watching from a telescope; black blood is rapidly closing over Crona’s body, but it doesn’t make him feel victorious. He feels numb, a fog bleeding through all of him, although it pauses when he registers the sound of his name being called over and over.

It takes all of his effort to find Maka, and even then her face is blurry. His voice is somewhere far away-he’d believed the madness had made him hallucinate her, although that hadn’t stopped him from taking Crona’s blow. Next to her, the light bounces up and down, clear in his vision somehow.

Something beneath him shifts, and he realizes Maka has her arm under his shoulders. She feels faint through their bond, like she is the one is fading. Speaking is a struggle that claims most of his energy. “You’re here.”

Her voice is shaky. “That’s right.”

“It’s dangerous.”

Bright tears fall down her face. “I said I was here for everything.”

He wants to say something comforting. “Me too.”

“Yeah?” she asks as she hauls him to his feet. “Prove it.”

* * *

Without a body, Soul is lighter to carry on her back, but Maka still struggles to keep ahead of death’s encroaching flow as it reclaims the Rift. She’s guided through what remains of the Rift by the light, which swept down in front of her once she had Soul on her back. Although it could be taking her further in, for all she knows, she follows it. She doesn’t have the time to wander around until she finds the entrance.

The only thing Maka can focus on is putting one foot in front of the other. She listens for the telltale rush of an oncoming monster as she follows the light; they’re lost if one attacks-she doesn’t have a weapon or the energy to ward it off. True fear laces around her as Soul’s pulse gets weaker, but her voice is too heavy to summon to even call his name.

Her legs give out after minutes of following the light, and she nearly loses her grip on Soul as she stumbles forward. Behind Maka, the sound of the ground crumbling grows closer as she forces herself up, her legs buckling again.

_ Just one more step, _ she begs her body. The light waits for her as she rises, limping forward before she collapses again.

A heaviness is taking over, one that she can’t stop or work through. She ignores it until she can’t, and even then she fights it, keeping her eyes fixed on the light until the mouth of the Rift springs into view, but it’s at least a quarter of a mile away, too far for her to battle to.

But just ahead looms the trees of the forest, shrinking away slowly as Earth recedes from the Rift. The light dances in Maka’s vision, urging her forward.

A wave of relief crashes over as soon as she steps into the forest, and her body crashes along with it, knocking Soul away as she collapses. Her hand scrabbles across the ground, trying to find him as a darkness more opaque than the Rift swoops across her vision.

But she feels nothing.

* * *

Soul’s eyes open as he feels his back press against the ground. Maka is somewhere next to him, but he can’t turn his head or do anything but squint as the light flits into his vision. He thinks he sees trees beyond it, but he can’t be sure whether it’s just his imagination.

The light bobs down, forcing his eyes closed. Its resonance draws his soul into its rhythm this time, fusing as the light sinks into Soul. He feels warm suddenly as a floating sensation sweeps over him. Although his eyes are shut, a brightness diffuses slowly across his vision, warmth spreading through his body.

This must be what death feels like to the souls passing through it, but he pretends that the heat pulsing in his chest is his heartbeat; he wants to be alive-something he’s never let himself completely acknowledge before-with a burning and consuming ache.

The light shifts, taking on a reddish tint as it swallows his vision, and he takes a deep breath, waiting.

He is not afraid anymore, at least.

Then he takes another breath.

And another.

Soul opens his eyes; through the forest, Earth’s sky gazes down, welcoming him home.

* * *

The pungent smell of pine trees is the first thing Maka registers as the dark pulls away from her eyes, though she can’t seem to open them. Her memory before she became unconscious is blank; thinking is like moving through quicksand, and the feeling that she’s missing something important grates at her. She stops trying to remember when the ache of her muscles sinks in-it’s too much to move, so Maka just lies there, shoots of pain stabbing her neck. The sensation of blood coating her back is something she hadn’t noticed due to the thickness of her vest, but it explains why she collapsed. 

She needs a doctor, but the heaviness in her body persists. It reminds her a little of the aftermath of the truck accident, the slow way she came to discover herself in a hospital bed, and then Soul floating over her.

_ Soul. _

Her eyes are still weighed down; it’s faintly ridiculous that she can’t even do something as simple as open her eyes after everything she’s done and gone through, though she discovers she can move her hands now.

Blind, she searches for Soul, and, like before, feels nothing. Panic rises, and then the obvious occurs to her; she reaches for their link, and finds it gone. Not muted, faded, or blocked.

Gone.

Devastation cuts Maka from the heaviness consuming her body; the rays of the sun prick at her eyes as they fly open and rove across the lightning sky. The Rift’s veil is absent, like it never existed, and in a rush, she understands.

“No.” The word rips out from deep inside of Maka’s chest. She shakes her head, as if that will change the truth; the pain from her cut flares up as her head moves, but she doesn’t care. The way grief razes her body is familiar, though she refuses to accept it. It’s possible to do everything right and still lose, she knows; denial will not change anything.

And yet, the tears won’t fall-she doesn’t know if she is refusing to cry, or whether this grief has permanently locked them away. She lies on the ground, chest heaving as agony enfolds her in a crushing embrace. She doesn’t turn at the sound of approaching footsteps but closes her eyes.

“Are you awake?” The voice of whoever is speaking is too close to Soul’s.

She screws her eyes tighter.  _ Grief is cruel. _

The voice grows more insistent. “Maka.”

Her head shakes-she knows the ghost of Soul will disappear when she opens her eyes.

“Maka.” A finger pokes against her face. “Wake up.”

Gritting her teeth, she swats at the hand, but it catches hers. Anger rises up in her chest, and she squints her eyes, shooting a glare upwards as she rips her hand away. Soul is blurry at first, then sharpens into focus as Maka’s eyes widen. His face is upside down, like when they first met.

“You’ve lost a lot of blood, so I went to look for help,” he says. “I tried to find your father, but Marie found me, though I’m glad it wasn’t Azusa.”

Shock replaces Maka’s grief as she gapes at him. Soul’s teeth have lost most of their sharpness, though his eyes are redder than they were the first time he came back alive, and his hair is as white as ever. She opens her mouth, but no words come out, her voice stuck in her throat.

Soul speaks after a few seconds, brow furrowing in concern. “What’s wrong?”

It takes effort to unstick her voice. “You’re here.”

“Yes.” He frowns. The feeling of his soul in her perception is different, but his core is the same. “Our bond’s gone, I think.”

“It is.” Maka reaches until she finally finds his hand, wrapping it with hers; tears prick at the corners of her eyes. “I thought you were gone, when I couldn’t feel you.”

Soul interlocks his fingers in hers. “I told you a long time ago I was staying for everything, didn’t I?”

The sun breaks free over the horizon as she smiles. “You did.”


	14. In my end is my beginning

Soul can’t see ghosts anymore. His supernatural abilities are as dead as he used to be, according to Stein; he’s glad for it, because he has seen enough to fuel his nightmares for the rest of his life, but it fills him with melancholy sometimes, too.

It’s hard to feel secure in his new life after what happened the first time. He goes to sleep every night thinking he’s going to wake up in the morning with the hunger grinding away at him again, but it doesn’t, and after two weeks, he begins to think he can trust that he really is alive.

A few days after the destruction of the Rift, he spent most of a morning stuck in the DWMA, answering their questions. His explanation of the light leaves the three silent when he finishes recounting his story.

Stein was the one to break the silence. “Well, it seems death didn’t want you, yet.”

It makes Soul laugh for the first time in his new life; when he looked in the aura mirror as he left, he’d seen the blue of his soul filling the outline of his body.

Maka spends four days stuck in bed at Spirit’s insistence, which he can tell drives her up a wall when he visits during the day, sometimes with Black Star and Tsubaki. He would have stayed well into the night, but the visiting hours Spirit imposed ended strictly at dinnertime.

It does give him time to adjust; he moves into the room that used to be Masamune’s at Tsubaki’s insistence, something that made him feel strange after his encounter with the demon, although the sensation is gradually fading. Black Star claims Soul as a distant cousin he knew before Sid adopted him when he introduces Soul to new people, even though they look nothing alike.

Building an identity is the next thing on his list; he knows Maka has ideas, but is waiting for him to come to her. He’s grateful for it, and eventually does. She approaches him one day with a birth certificate and driver’s license with his name on it, and only divulges that it came from Stein, which he accepts with no questions. It makes him happy and a little wistful to see that, save the year, his birthday is the same.

In September, Soul enrolls in home school with Sid’s wife, Nygus, as his teacher. She squints in near-recognition at his last name, but thankfully doesn’t ask about it. Soul is shocked that he remembers enough of the basics to qualify as a high school senior, given his records were ‘destroyed’. It’s a foundation for a new life, constructed from his old one. It’s good, but being alive can turn overwhelming, can make his head feel like a tomb crawling with ghosts-something he’d forgotten. The nightmares of potions being stuffed down his throat and Crona cleaving his soul from his body don’t help, either.

When he can’t escape the ghosts, he visits his old grave. Seeing his name etched on the stone is grounding, and reminds Soul that he is human. Sometimes, he goes alone, but most times Maka is with him. She knows him best, even with their bond gone, and knows when he becomes too stuck in his head. Her touch quiets the ghosts when he’s unable to put his thoughts into words. Meanwhile, he kisses her hand when her grip on his turns too tight, or her expression suddenly becomes closed, which always brings a smile to her lips.

They don’t avoid talking about when he was a ghost and everything else that came with it, but he likes thinking and talking about the future more, something he tells her one day while they’re studying in her room, months after the Rift’s destruction.

A happy surprise lights up Maka’s eyes as Soul tells her. When he asks about it, she’s quiet for a moment. “I know how hard everything can be,” she says finally. “I was worried you might be afraid of the future.”

He takes Maka’s hand, reflecting her smile. “Not when I’m with you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so the series ends! A big thank you goes to my best friend and beta, @arialis, for helping me polish this series-it wouldn't have been nearly as good without her help. And thank you, readers, for your support and reading. Writing this series means more to me than I can ever say, and I hope you enjoyed reading. If you'd like to yell about it or talk in general, you can find me @lunar--resonance on tumblr!


End file.
